Letters to Your Heart, Axes to Your Scabbard
by kkolmakov
Summary: After Erebor had been lost, and the Dwarves had abandoned hope to reclaim the Kingdom of Moria, Thorin, son of Thrain breaks off his betrothal to Lady Dania, daughter of Lyr, niece of Dain Ironfoot, the woman with whom he had been exchanging letters in secret for years. What happens when her younger sister joins his company on the Quest for Erebor? [Thorin x OC]
1. Prologue

**A/N: For** **Seltika** **! The amazing talented illustrator whose blog you should definitely check out!** **whowanderlost dot blogspot dot pt.** **Wonderful Thorin art and my constant OC, Wren, and so much more to come!**

 **Just as** **Seltika** **requested, it is a story of my OC joining the Dwarves on their Quest for Erebor, but this time it is not that simple…**

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 **Allons-y, my lovelies! :D**

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 ** _Prologue_**

 _Year TA 2770, Smaug's Attack on Erebor_

The fire roared and rushed through the Mountain, shaking the walls, the floor heating up under the boots of the Khazad thrashing in the chambers in panic, children screaming, men and women grabbing their weapons, and their most valuable belongings.

"Dragon!.. Dragon!.." The cries rolled through the Kingdom Under the Mountain, the terror and the heat spreading through halls, and people ran, to the Front Gate, out of their home.

Some ran into the inner halls, those whose beloved were on the way of the beast. It was not hard to surmise where the monster was plowing through the opulent chambers of Erebor, the columns and walls were crumbling as if made of children's wooden blocks, their scorching debris trailing the immense body, its tail breaking whatever was left standing behind.

"Sigin'adad!" Prince Thorin rushed through a narrow passage leading into the Lower Halls, hastily pulling his training sword out of the scabbard.

"Thorin!" Dwalin's voice came from behind, and Thorin threw look over his shoulder without slowing down. "Where is Balin?!"

"He is taking women out through the Northern Passage!" They were now running together, heading lower and deeper into the Mountain.

 _Treasury, he is surely in the treasury…_ Thorin thought with certainty, and the prickle of the familiar chagrin made him wince. King Thror seemed to spend most of his time among the golden dunes of the Horde of Erebor.

They turned around the corner and had to slow their pace, met with a large crowd of Dwarves rushing towards the stairs leading in the Upper Halls. Being taller than most, even in his young age, Thorin looked them over and saw several bright copper haired heads, and he grabbed Dwalin's forearm.

"The envoys from Iron Hills… Are those the envoys?" Dwalin stretched his neck and quickly surveyed the Dwarves Thorin was pointing at.

"Aye, there is Master Boin there..." But Thorin was not listening, pushing his way through the crowd, trying to reach the old wide shouldered Dwarf Dwalin was pointing at.

"Master Boin!" Thorin raised his voice, trying to call over the rumble and roar of the Mountain, and the terrified voices of the people, and then someone grabbed his sleeve.

"Prince Thorin!" Thorin looked down and met the eyes of a woman, who was carrying a small crying child in her arms. "Is it true?! Is there a serpent..?" Thorin frowned, not knowing what to say.

"Aye… And do hurry up, follow the others," his voice broke, and he pushed by the woman and towards Master Boin, son of Brali. "Master Boin!" The older Dwarf finally turned around, and Thorin rushed to him.

"Prince Thorin, you are supposed to be with your father!" The emissary from the Iron Hills gave Thorin a concerned look.

"Lady Dania! Where is she?!" Thorin's eyes searched the face of the old Dwarf, who suddenly smirked, despite the nightmare raging around them.

"She is safe, my Prince. They were in the Upper Halls when the beast attacked, her and the chaperones, and her sister, so probably they are already in the valley." Thorin exhaled sharply in acute relief and nodded to Master Boin. "You should be heading there as well, my Prince…" The Dwarf grabbed Thorin's shoulder, but the Prince shook his head.

"I need to find my Grandfather..." He twisted from out of the old Dwarf's grip, and followed by Dwalin he started marching to the stairs leading down to the Thror's Hall. And then he turned around and his throat bobbed, his eyes emotional. "Tell Lady Dania… If I do not… Tell her..." His lips twisted in unease from such mawkish behaviour. And then he tensed his jaw, as if arriving to an internal decision. "Tell her I will never forget my promise."

Master Boin looked at him in confusion, but Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror was already running towards his grandfather's halls.


	2. Fourteenth Dwarf

**A/N: As requested by Seltika, this story is my OC going on the Quest for Erebor as it is described in the films. I will still occasionally change things if they make little sense to me, but mostly, refer to Peter Jackson's visuals for guidance.**

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 **A/N#2: I made a board on my Pinterest (kkolmakov) for this story. If you want to know what Werna looks like in my head, refer to it. I think the Slovakian actress Eva Vica Kerekes is as perfect for Werna as it gets :)**

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 _171 Years Later, The Company's Arrival to Hobbiton_

Bilbo Baggins was feeling quite out of sorts. First, a crowd of Dwarves invaded his home, pillaged his pantries and trod mud all over his carpets, then their imposing, grumpy looking leader started pronouncing pathos filled, rather disturbing speeches, then a map and a key resurfaced, and the bearded barbarians were arguing and being quite loud, and finally it turned out Bilbo was to join them on an adventure, and as their official burglar no less.

He was sitting in his armchair, sipping his chamomile and thinking back at everything that had just transpired at his dinner table. There was a lot of history and drama behind this whole story, and Bilbo was not that certain he quite enjoyed it.

Mostly he was rather concerned with the poor organisation of the whole endeavour. As limited as his knowledge of the Dwarven history was, he knew that Dwarves were many in Middle Earth, Seven Kingdoms as that dark faced King of theirs mentioned over his soup, and just thirteen of them were clearly not the most representative of the Mountain Dwellers. And again, they were not travelling to Bree for a few barrels of ale. There was after all... a dragon. A small squeak once again escaped Bilbo at this thought.

 _Not thirteen of the best, nor brightest..._ That line from the most respectable looking out of them, the white bearded Balin, had also added to Bilbo's concern. His unexpected guests indeed had not struck him as the most intellectually gifted, or cautious, which Bilbo, as a genuine hobbit, considered perhaps even more important than wits.

Gandalf sat into an armchair in front of Bilbo and started recollecting Bilbo's family history, referring to his great, great, great, great uncle Bullroarer Took, who could apparently ride a horse and perform the most formidable acts that no respectable Hobbit would even consider. Bilbo was shaking his head and finally asked the most important question.

"Can you promise that I will come back?" The answer was very much what one would expect from a wizard, disturbing and ambiguous.

"No. And if you do, you'll not be the same." Well, that decided then, and Bilbo rose on his feet to leave when another loud knock came into his front door.

Bilbo threw a questioning look at the wizard whose face suddenly gained that aloof, disinterested expression that children tended to have when their mischief was about to be discovered.

"What?.." Bilbo mumbled and after receiving no response from the wizard whatsoever he marched to his front door. He passed Thorin and Balin in the central hall, they had been quietly conversing and immediately grew silent when seeing him. Bilbo's nose twitched in frustration, and trying to keep his head up he stomped by them and jerked the front door open.

Behind it he found yet another Dwarf. Were Bilbo not a well brought up Baggins, he would swear. A dark green cloak with a hood low on the face, the figure was shorter than any other of Bilbo's guests, and narrower too, and then two rather small hands in leather gloves flew up, the hood fell back, and Bilbo saw the most astonishing thing of all.

A Dwarven maiden.

"Werna, daughter of Lyr, at your service," she had confident melodic voice and gave his a low bow. It was of the same manner as Balin had given him at the beginning of the evening, the same grace and a certain amount of flamboyance, and to his shock Bilbo saw two battle axes strapped to her back.

She was red haired, face peppered by bright orange freckles, had strange slanted eyes, with thick black lashes, and a turn up nose. Overall she was nothing Bilbo had imagined a female Dwarf to be. She was his height, but the waist was narrow and the hips were round, unlike much stockier Hobbit ladies, and there was a certain contradiction in her. On one hand, there was jewelery on her fingers and in her earlobes, hair was braided intricately with heavy pins decorating it. And yet she was dressed in manly cut clothes, her attire mostly reminiscent of the older nephew of the Dwarven leader, Fili. She had a practical coat of warm brown colour under her cloak, with a fox fur collar, a velvet doublet peeking from underneath it and trousers of the same coffee with cream colour. The boots were sturdy and practical, but again much lighter than those that the one called Kili had tried to clean over Bilbo's mother's glory box.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," mumbled Bilbo, awkwardly returning the bow. He was so flabberghasted by the picture in front of him that he just continued standing on his threshold without inviting his new guest in.

"I am looking for the company of Thorin Oakenshield, Master Baggins, and I was informed that here was where I could find them." The eyes were indeed rather unusual, the colour of irises seemed fluid, everchanging, from bright green to warm golden amber, the outer corners upturned, and Bilbo felt heady blush spill on his cheeks.

"Um… They are inside… But the supper is over..." He mumbled and mumbled, feeling even worse from his own ramblings, and somehow still not inviting the maiden in, and she gave him a soft reassuring smile.

"Fortunately, I am not hungry. May I come in?"

Bilbo jumped back inside the house and to the side, and she walked in. There was assured grace in all her movements, and she took off her cloak and hung it on the peg near the door.

"Where can I leave my weapons, Master Baggins?" Her strange eyes were laughing, and Bilbo had just stretched his arms to take her axes, and the short sword he saw clasped to her wide belt, when a rough voice came from behind him.

"Dania?.." Bilbo twirled on his heels and stared at the imposing leader of the Dwarves. The previously arrogant face was wan, eyes widened, and Bilbo saw the dilated pupils and the chest rising in short breaths.

* * *

 _171 Years Ago, The Morning of the Day Before the Smaug's Attack_

"And besides," Thorin turned around continuing walking backwards, "I do not like the langet on this axe, you can take it..." Dwalin who was following him lifted his hand to warn the Prince, when Thorin's back smashed into a person turning around the corner.

Thorin swirled around and looked. There was empty space on his eyes' level, and he dropped them. The girl he collided with was short and was rubbing her forehead. He quickly noticed bright orange curls, escaping an intricate do, and a luxurious velvet attire.

Her chaperone appeared from around the corner and rushed to the girl.

"My lady, are you alright?"

"Quite so," the girl mumbled, and then narrowed strange eyes flew up to his face. "Except this lulkh ran into me." _Fool_ in Khuzdul made Thorin give her an incredulous look. She was too young to learn the tongue yet, and its rather frivolous usage was astonishing.

"I beg pardon, I did not see you..." Thorin heard Dwalin's snort behind him and clenched his jaw.

"Because you were walking like an azahsefasmuzm," the girl hissed at him. Comparison to a crayfish did not please him either.

"And you could have looked better where you were going, and besides I have apologised!" His temper was rising, and she jerked her chin up. Some noise suspiciously reminiscent of a suppressed laugh came from behind the Prince, and he threw a glare to his closest friend.

"Apology not accepted," the girl deadpanned and marched by him. Her chaperone rushed after her.

"My lady, it was Prince Thorin, you cannot speak in such a tone to him..." Thorin was staring at the straight back of the red haired girl, moving away from them along the corridor. The maid had to mince quickly after her, the girl was a fast walker.

"Do not tell me what I can or cannot do, Enna. He felt no regret, and thus his apology was nothing but empty words..." The voice of the girl trailed away, both her and the maid disappearing around the corner, and Dwalin finally gave in to his frolics.

"Mahal help me, your face..." His large palm clapped on Thorin's shoulder, and the Prince snarled.

"What a nuisance of a thing! Who was it?"

"Dain Ironfoot's niece. They arrived yesterday with the emissaries from Iron Hills. There are two of them, both redheads. Both with temper." Dwalin looked at the corner the girl vanished around.

"Mahal save us from that!" Thorin spat out in disdain and grabbed Dwalin's tunic on the shoulder. "Common, we still need to have a look at those axes."

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 _171 Years Later, The Company's Arrival to Hobbiton_

Bilbo watched the lips of the Dwarven maiden part slightly and emotions splashed in her eyes. Feverish red spots bloomed on her high cheekbones, bright on her pale skin.

"Thorin..." She breathed out, and then Dwalin showed up from around the corner and froze a step behind the Dwarven leader. The warrior's jaw slacked.

His appearance seemed to have sobered up Bilbo's latest guest, and she bestowed the still bewildered imposing Dwarven King with a low decorous bow.

"My lord, I am not Dania. I am Werna, daughter of Lyr, the younger niece of Dain Ironfoot. Dania is my older sister."

* * *

 **My writing blog:**

kolmakov dot ca

You can find information on my upcoming book

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net,**

 **summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Available for Kindle pre-order now!

Visit my blog after pre-order to submit a request for your exclusive 1000+ word story!

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I'll keep you posted!

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 _Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun to create my own fantasy world.

Come on this journey with me on my blog!

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Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!


	3. Offer He Cannot Refuse

**A/N: I apologise for the long wait on my updates. Between additional shifts in my bakery, editing the novel and the child constantly dragging me outside since we are actually having Summer here, my poor FF has been lonely and crying in the corner. But here I am, and even have a few days off ahead of me. Updates for all stories! *Oprah's voice* :D**

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 **A/N#2: Find my on my blog ( kolmakov dot ca), my Twitter: katyakolmakov, Facebook and Instagram (kkolmakov), and let's hang out :) **

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**A/N#3: If you pre-ordered "Convince Me the Winter is Over," don't forget to request an exclusive 1000+ piece for yourself on my blog, under the book info. I can see more pre-orders than requests, my duckies! Don't forget to get your little gift! :D**

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"Master Dwalin, an honour to meet you," Werna gave the King's lieutenant a ceremonial bow as well, emitting the 'again' she was tempted to add. It was unlikely he would remember the encounter from a hundred seventy years ago. Though the punch could still have been memorable.

The King's eyes roamed her face, his brows frowned, a stubborn crinkle between them. And Werna realised that he had already made up his mind regarding her presence in the house of the Hobbit, who meanwhile was standing his arms still stretched to take her weapons from her.

"Perhaps it would be more convenient to speak in the living room," a low deep voice came from behind the King, and Werna tore her eyes off his dark face, and saw a tall lanky Man dressed in grey. He had a long beard and astute blueish grey eyes twinkling with mirth. It was not hard to guess whom she was seeing.

"Tharkun," Werna spoke and bestowed him with a bow. "I have heard many favourable things about your wisdom and your nobility."

"From your sister no doubt," the wizard chuckled, and from the corner of her eye Werna caught a slight movement from the King.

"I will put the kettle on," the Hobbit squeaked, and Werna smiled to him with gratitude.

"Coffee would be most welcome, Master Baggins." Werna places her axes and the sword into his hands and followed the men into the living room. She wondered if it were as easy for others as it was for her to read the subtle expressions hiding in the King's features. He did not want her here. She expected that. He would prefer to see her sister. She expected that as well.

He was astonishingly and stunningly attractive. That she had not taken in consideration. Her only hope was the years of strict upbringing and her usual collectedness. The latter, though, was wavering.

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She was drinking coffee, pinching a generous slice of seed cake offered to her by the host, while leading an unhasty polite conversation with Lord Balin. After being introduced to the rest of the company by the King, in a tone grumpy and grave of course, Werna was seated in a small cozy living room, Lord Balin, Dwalin, the wizard and the Hobbit sitting around the table, while the King stood his back to them, smoking his pipe. She could see the reflections of the softly crackling fire dancing on his prominent profile. At some point the younger of his nephews stuck his smiling, lit with curiosity face through the round door frame, but instantly disappeared under the heavy glare from his Uncle. Werna was exchanging news from Iron Hills with the Dwarves, mentioning the declining health of her mother, the sister of Dain Ironfoot's wife, to whom Lord Balin was a distant relative, the draught of the last Summer and the increase in the prices on fur. Less knowledgeable in the matters of trade than her sister, Werna felt slightly diffident, but nonetheless the conversation seemed to go smoothly.

"So, what brought you here, Lady Werna?" The polite question from Balin finally came, and Werna fisted her hand, hidden under the table.

"As Tharkun here mentioned to my sister in his letter and my Uncle later informed us, you are planning to travel East in the hopes to reclaim Erebor. I know you were seeking those who would want to join you. I am offering my axes and my services." Werna kept her voice calm and almost cold, and her eyes on the face of the white bearded Dwarf. His eyes twinkled, and understanding ran between them. It was all of course the decision of the King-in-the-Exile, but what proud Khuzd would throw begging looks at him? She was not asking to take her, she was proposing to contribute to his cause.

Inside everything shook. She knew her worth as a warrior, she had been training her whole life. Unlike her older sister, only interested in smithery and her books, Werna had always hoped to apply her abilities in healing and fighting on a quest. When Dania had brought the letter from the grey wizard, Werna could hardly believe her luck.

On the other hand, she had little experience in travelling. Still, even those short scouting expeditions she had gone on had given her plenty of chances to polish her fighting skills. Orc did not frighten her.

The cold haughty expression on the King's face did. Her heart thrashed when he slowly turned and gave her a measuring look.

"What does your Uncle think of it?" That question was again expected, and she discreetly wiped her clammy hand over her knee under the table.

"I am of age, my lord," she made sure her answer came out full of dignity. "Even as my guardian, he has no power over me anymore." Dania and her had become Dain's wards after the Battle of Azanulbizar. Many had required guardians after it. Werna cringed from the memories of her mother's screams at the news of the demise of Werna's father, grandfather and three uncles.

"I am a capable warrior, my lord. I will be of use." Werna decided to allow herself that much of asking. Their eyes met. How was it possible she had forgotten their breath-taking blue colour? He was studying her, and then she saw his lips press in a stubborn line.

"I cannot guarantee your safety. If anything were to happen with you, your mother and sister are to stay the only members of your clan. I cannot risk such family to decline at my fault."

Werna felt her temper rise. That was a heap of Orc's dang if she had ever heard any. Who did he think she was? A twenty year old youngling he had met in Erebor? He doubted her because she was a woman. Even in danger of being judgemental, Werna felt like yelling to him that most likely she would be much more useful in a fight than that young Dwarf in knitted gloves who blushed so furiously when introduced to her that she could fry breakfast eggs on his freckled cheeks.

She was almost certain that mostly he did not want her on this quest because he did not want to upset her sister. Dania, Dania was what mattered. His beloved Dania the betrothal to whom he had broken off explaining it by being 'not worthy of her, crownless and Kingdomless.' Werna thought she understood him well. He worried that even if she were not a burden on this quest she would slip on a wet pinecone, or something equally ridiculous, would fall down and break her neck. And he would have to beg his beloved Dania forgiveness for depriving her of half of her living family. More than a half, Werna thought bitterly, their mother hardly had another Summer to see.

If he thought she would sadly sniffle, wipe her eyes with a silken embroidered handkerchief and drag herself back to the Hills, he was cruelly mistaken. She jerked her chin up and gave him an equally cantankerous glare.

"I am grateful for your consideration, my lord, but that was what I was brought up to do. I am an id-u'zagh." _A_ _warrior,_ the word gravely hung in the room, and she saw the Hobbit to shiver.

Muscles danced on Thorin Oakenshield's jaw, and he frowned even more as if it were possible.

"I would express gratitude and accept Lady Werna's generous offer, Thorin," the grey wizard spoke quietly, and Werna noticed Balin nod slightly.

"Those axes did not look new," Dwalin added, and Werna glanced at him with surprise. His support was unexpected, but hardly unwelcome. "The handles are nicely worn out. And the blades are sharp."

Now everyone was looking at the King expecting his answer, and Werna had a flicker of hope, when he sharply emptied the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace and pushed the pipe under his belt.

"It is out of the question. I am not allowing it."

"Even if my sister were asking you of it?" Werna's voice was high and tense, and she jumped on her feet. The letter, her trump card, was in her hand, stretched to him, and his eyes fell on the envelope.

She intently watched his eyes follow the swirls of the familiar handwriting and his face wavered. Werna held her breath. He took a laboured breath in and slowly took the letter with the tenderness she did not expect his fingers knew.

The silence rang in the room, and then he hastily exited, carrying the envelope with him.

* * *

 _Thorin,_

 _As you can see I am emitting all the monikers my hand still wants to add to your name. Do not fear, I am not trying to renew our association. This letter serves quite a different purpose, and if not for it, you would not have seen a word from me._

 _Werna has to go with you. Take her with you to Erebor._

 _I would have given you many reasons, but I have no right to mention any. And still, I will use a trick on you and will tell you that if I still had had the right to worry about you, I would have felt a bit easier knowing she were by your side. But I do not, and still I will. You have said many times that I play you like you play your harp. I will never hear the latter, but will do the first for the last time._

 _Werna has grown on the stories you told me in your letters and I have retold to her. We had had but a day in your Mountain but one of us left her heart in it. Werna will fight for it to the last drop of her blood._

 _If you still care for what I think of you, you probably have refused her already. Otherwise, you would not be reading this. I know you better than you do yourself, my heart. I would scratch out the moniker, but what sort of guilt inducing letter would it be without my mentioning of our previous closeness?_

 _Unlike you, I do not see Werna as a shorter, weaker version of myself, which you are scared to lose on the journey and whose death you are afraid to feel guilty over. Werna is a woman of her own, a capable warrior and is tough as a nail, given a small one for a Longbeard._

 _And lastly, be careful, Thorin. Be safe, I am begging you. I have no right, but I will pray to Mahal for you every day of my life, till my last breath._

 _Not anymore, but forever,_

 _Your harsuna._


	4. Fire Opal and Sapphire

**A/N: And here we are finally! I know it's been six months, but here is the update, and more will come soon!**

 **This story will now become the central story I'll be writing; Thorin and Wren's adventures in Hogwarts (** _ **Thorin Durinson and the Conundrum of the Ginger Transfer Student**_ **) being the secondary, lighter one.**

 _ **Me Without You**_ **will be concluded shortly, the final chapters already drafted (but we all know how my Muse sometimes jumps out of a pantry ;) I remember when** _ **MWY**_ **was to be done around chapter 50 :D So, no promises! :)**

 **A/N#2: The story is dedicated to dear** **Seltika** **(whose glorious fanart for Thorin and Wren/Werna you can find through my Facebook writer's page, just search Katya Kolmakov); and based on her prompt it's 'a girl goes on the Quest with the Dwarves, and mostly everything goes like it did in the films.'**

 **Love you, my darlings, and allons-y!**

 **Best,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

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The dark faced King stepped back into the living room, and his eyes fell on the Dwarven maiden. Bilbo looked at her as well. She grew silent, a minute ago telling the white haired Balin of her mother, who was Balin's distant relative and apparently of declining health, and now the lady lifted her chin meeting the eyes of the tall dark haired Dwarf.

"You may join us on our quest," he spoke gravely, his brows drawn together. Her face remained unreadable, but Bilbo assumed she felt relieved. Why one would want to venture on a quest, and this dangerous for that matter, escaped him though.

Balin cleared his throat pointedly, and the King looked at him. Seemingly a silent conversation ran between them, and the King exhaled.

"And I thank you for your generous offer. Your axes will be of great use on this journey," the King muttered in a coarse voice, and then turned around and left the room. Balin and Dwalin excused themselves and followed.

With Gandalf enjoying his pipe by the fireplace, almost hidden behind the cloud of thick aromatic smoke, Bilbo was left as much as alone with the Dwarven lady. He squirmed on his chair. He dared not look at her and had been stirring his tea unnecessarily for the last two minutes.

"Will this be your first quest of such length, Master Baggins?" she suddenly asked, and Bilbo jerked, toppling his cup. Thankfully, he had been fiddling with it for so long that the liquid was lukewarm.

"I am not… not going on the quest..." Bilbo mumbled in return, and met her attentive eyes. They were indeed most unusual - slanted, and bright, hiding under long black lashes. The colour was more green than hazel presently, but he had noticed it to be almost amber golden a few moments ago. He assumed emotions affected it.

She was a beautiful creature, Bilbo had to concede. He had not previously thought much about women, just considering himself too young, and eventually perhaps not quite the marrying type, but Bilbo had an ardent appreciation for beauty and for nature, and Werna, daughter of Lyr was the most exquisite of beings. Bilbo felt his nose twitch uncontrollably.

"That is most disappointing, Master Baggins. As I understood, you were to play a crucial part in the quest. You see, my sister Dania is in constant correspondence with our friend, the Grey Wizard here." Werna threw a quick look at Gandalf, but he continued his smoking, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Bilbo knew how little one could trust the man's appearance, though.

"And Dania told me of the perils that we are to encounter on the road, and of course of the Serpent. A skillful burglar such as yourself would be most opportune to have with us," the lady continued, and Bilbo muttered and shook his head violently.

"But I am no burglar, you see… It is a mistake!" He threw her a cautious look, expecting disapproval to splash onto her features, but she was watching him with a soft expression in her eyes, and with a small warm smile on her red lips. "I am the wrong Hobbit," he stated stubbornly, and she sighed and nodded.

"I am sorry to hear it, Master Baggins. I was looking forward to travelling with you." She rose, and he jumped up as well. "On the other hand, it is the right of any person to choose where to go, and where to stay. I hope your decision brings you peace and happiness." She bowed to him decorously, and left the living room.

Bilbo fell back in his chair, and glared at the Wizard who now was industriously pretending to sleep in his armchair. Bilbo felt out of sorts, and some strange feeling was nagging at his heart. Since he knew not what it was and hardly felt inclined to investigate, he spent the next twenty minutes fighting his discomfort, and then huffed air out and marched out of the living room to see to the accommodations of his guests.

After the rooms were assigned and bedding given out, Bilbo returned to his bedroom, and sat down on his bed.

Through the open doors he could hear the voices of the Dwarves in the small parlour they were occupying. The conversation seemed unhurried now, and Bilbo leaned on the bedpost, trying not to eavesdrop. His thoughts were swirling, his mind thrashing between what had been discussed at dinner, and the conversation with the Wizard. Bilbo could not quite shake off his unease, but surely he was not doubting his decision! And what was there to decide?! He was a Baggins of Bagend! Even a thought of any sort of… adventure would be preposterous!

And then the singing started. First, the low velvet voice of the Dwarven King floated through the air, in a reverent, grave vocalising, Bilbo had recognised the voice right away. And then others joined him, and something stirred in Bilbo's heart. They sang of far away mountains, and caverns, and a fire raging through woods, and Bilbo could feel their love, and their ache for their home lace into their voices, and the yearning. Through the window of his bedroom he could see stars shining in the night sky, and they made him think of the gems that proud Dwarves found in their mountains, and polished into dazzling jewels; and he thought of the fire opals, golden, and dark as buckwheat honey, with green sparks dancing in them, just like the eyes of the Dwarven maiden, whose voice, melodic and strong had just weaved into the song; and of blue sapphires, seemingly cold and cruel, but dazzling, like the eyes of the Dwarven King.

And then the song stopped, silence rang in Bilbo's home, and he had not noticed himself how he fell asleep.

* * *

He was of course surprised to find his house empty in the morning. And even more so, he was absolutely astounded to find his abode clean and as if untouched by the previous night. He walked around it, making sure everything was in its place, and it felt as if yesterday's visit had been nothing but a dream.

And then his eyes fell on the contract left on the table, and the spot where his signature was to be, just below the name of the Dwarven leader, and Bilbo stared at the parchment. And then something caught his attention, at the very corner of his eye.

On a small table by the window - opened slightly, the curtain softly moving in the morning breeze - Bilbo saw one of his mugs, the one he hardly used, from the top shelf, and the branches of lilac in it. They were clearly freshly cut, from the bushes near the road, white and lilac, of two shades, the dark violet, almost black, and light purple, almost pink. Bilbo studied the arrangement. It showed taste and appreciation for the beauty of nature.

And he remembered the sweet, light aroma of lilacs that his sensitive nose caught when Werna, daughter of Lyr passed him entering his house, and the same fragrance that came from her cloak he hung on a peg.

Bilbo stepped to the table and touched the blossoms. He could not believe that a Dwarf - a person of race he thought to only cherish and desire gold, and darkness, and underground - would show so much care and so much gentleness towards living things.

And then he grabbed the contract, and rushed to his study in search of a quill and ink, and here he was stuffing his belongings into a travel sack, and rummaging his pantries, and searching his closets, gathering a bedroll, and pots and pans, and his cloak, and his mind raced, and his head was spinning, half in panic that he would forget something of importance, half in disbelief that he indeed was going on an adventure!

* * *

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modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

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 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

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 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	5. Handkerchief

**A/N: Please, check my** **Facebook pages** **for my writing (** **Katya Kolmakov** **) and for my _Etsy shop The King and Wren_ that is opening December 16! MiniThorins, prints, and my new fiction, with an oaken token as a gift to my customers, all starting this Wednesday!**

* * *

Werna rode her pony, in the middle of their procession, near the Dwarf named Nori. They were conversing politely about mutual acquaintances in the Iron Hills. The Dwarf had travelled extensively, although, Werna was starting to realise, not all of his trips were to be fully disclosed. Nori was a rare type, perhaps a bit of a swindler. The Khazad preferred direct manner of dealings, especially among themselves. On the other hand, Werna could see how a man of his proclivities could be useful on their quest. His brothers, Dori and Ori, seemed pleasant enough, and Werna threw Ori a smile. He immediately grew flustered, but she assumed such would be his reaction to any attention. He was clearly full of desire to prove himself, to everyone around, and especially to his brothers.

In front of her there rode Bofur and Bifur, and Bofur's brother Bombur. The Khuzd was bulbous and was chewing something he kept on pulling pieces of from his pocket.

Werna tried not to stare at the axe embedded in Bifur's head. The day before, during the introductions, Bofur - his eyes twinkling with mischief - mentioned the three of them were toymakers, and Werna wondered whether the axe was no battle wound, but just an accident in a closet and an axe having been put unstably on a shelf.

While leading a decorous conversation, Werna - and she was quite good at it - discreetly studied Dwalin, son of Fundin, the younger brother of Lord Balin. He worried her. Unlike the King, who had been only acquainted with one of them, Dwalin had seen both her and her sister, that night before the Serpent attack. She pacified herself with the thought that most likely he either did not remember what had transpired, or considered it of no importance. Werna herself would care not for the mawkish dealings of all those years ago, but she suspected that the King-in-the-Exile would not react well if her secret were to be discovered. Werna suspected that the rumours of the temper of Thorin Oakenshield were no exaggeration.

She caught the eyes of Lord Balin on herself, and she nodded to him mannerly. His eyes were tense, and Werna wondered what could concern him.

"Wait!.." The loud familiar voice came from behind them, and Werna whipped her head, her hand habitually sliding on the hilt of the throwing knife on her belt. "Wait!"

Werna could not believe it! The Hobbit was running towards them, flailing what seemed to be the contract in the air, like a flag. Werna silently cursed. She had just lost twelve coins! She had been utterly certain that Master Baggins would not show up! And she considered herself a good judge of character! She quickly asked herself what could have changed his mind.

"Wait!" The Hobbit was rather quick for a person of his sedentary habits. "I signed it!"

Lord Balin accepted the contract and made quite a show of studying the signature under it. Werna pressed her lips to hide a smile. The Hobbit looked disheveled but triumphant.

"Everything appears to be in order. " Werna saw Lord Balin smile to the Hobbit with sincere warmth. She shared the Dwarf's opinion. Somehow it felt right to have the Hobbit with them on the journey. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

The Dwarves cheered, and Werna heard Fili, the King's older nephew whisper to his brother behind her, "In the name of Mahal, how did you know?"

Werna assumed Fili was in the same boat as her. It was time to say farewell to some silver.

"Give him a pony." Thorin's voice sounded irritated.

Despite the Hobbit's protests, he was picked up - Fili and Kili took care of that - and unceremoniously dropped into the saddle of another pony. Werna quickly turned and stared ahead, sinking teeth into her bottom lip to hide a giggle. The Hobbit's back was unnaturally straight, and the half bent arms in front of him stiff.

Silver pouches flew, and Werna threw hers to Kili with a huff of air.

"Mi'lady," the rascal grinned from ear to ear, and gave her a low nod.

Both the King's sistersons were hardly mature. The younger one seemed like quite an airhead, but the older one bore himself with dignity appropriate for an Heir of Durin. They seemed to be experienced, though. Their weapons were taken care of and clearly used extensively. Werna herself preferred throwing axes and daggers to bow and arrow, and she threw an appreciative look at the hunting knives in the blonde prince's vambraces. She made a mental note to inquire about the scabbards on his boots. The design was unique and seemed to be quite utile, and perhaps she might want to acquire a pair for her knives.

Some commotion transpired ahead, and suddenly the Hobbit started demanding a stop. It turned out the poor bod had a reaction to pony hair, and Werna squirmed on her saddle in embarrassment. She could not summon why he would show so much weakness and seeming ignorance towards how such fretting would be perceived by the Dwarves.

She could think of only one thing to do.

"Here, Master Baggins, take mine," she called to him, and stretched her hand with the silken handkerchief from her pocket. It was a gift from Dania, as a token for luck, but Werna decided it was a worthy sacrifice. She just could not stand the derisive looks the Dwarves were throwing at the poor Hobbit.

He rode closer to her, she saw his nose twitch nervously, and he accepted the handkerchief.

"Thank you, Lady Werna." She gave him an encouraging half-smile.

"Move on!" the King's voice boomed, and the mocking sniggering from other members of the company died out, and the ponies moved.

Werna spurred her pony and caught up with Gloin, son of Boin. Him and his brother, Oin were the closest relatives of the King, and she assumed that Gloin would be the treasurer of the company.

"You should not encourage the Halfling," he muttered, and Werna met his eyes. He gave her a stubborn glare under the bushy brows. "He will get himself killed on this journey, or worse so, injured, and all expenses will fall on our shoulders."

Werna chuckled, and answered pacifyingly, "There is still a chance he will be useful, Master Gloin."

The Dwarf snorted disdainfully. "Hardly. Unlike all of us, he saw no travel. You, as I have heard, had trained under Master Arni in the Iron Hills, and have been on plenty of scouting raids. While the Hobbit?.. Just a rabbit in a jacket." Gloin glared at the Hobbit, who was still sniffling, Werna's handkerchief in his hand. She noticed he did not wipe his nose with it.

"I had the training as the younger daughter in the family, aye. My sister of course was all about the books and the trade. But still..." Werna continued in a soft tone, "Even the most timid sometimes find their courage on a journey. Do you not trust Tharkun's judgement?" she asked with interest. Dania disclosed little about the wizard, but nonetheless told Werna to place her trust in him without a single doubt.

"Not even a tad," Gloin answered. "I do not know why Thorin bothered..."

The Dwarven maiden looked at the King. She had been trying to do so as little as possible. She could see the ebony waves scattered on the fur of his coat, the wide shoulders, and the proud set of his head. She ordered herself to ignore the fluttering in her chest. It was almost amusing how just one glance at him could turn her from the confident, seasoned warrior she thought herself every day, into a dimwitted maudlin girl.

"It is not up to us to judge the decisions of the leader of the company," Werna reminded the disgruntled Dwarf, and he did not answer, just muttering something under his breath.

* * *

In the evening the fire was started, and the Dwarves sat around it, talking quietly and eating the stew Bombur cooked. Werna was the first to take the watch, and she stood, leaning on a large tree on the edge of the clearing.

"Lady Werna?" Bilbo's soft voice came from behind, and Wren found herself in a stance with both her long daggers clasped in her hands.

"Mahal help me, Master Baggins, Hobbits are indeed light on their feet!" she breathed out, and then saw the Hobbits frantically widened eyes and terrified face. She stepped back and pushed the daggers into the scabbards.

"I am starting to see the reason behind Tharkun's choice," Werna said jollily, and the Hobbit awkwardly shifted between his feet.

"I came to thank you for your kindness. Earlier today..." he mumbled, and his nose was doing its usual dance. His hands flew up to the pockets on his waistcoat.

"It was just a handkerchief," Werna said and leaned back on the tree again.

"It was not." The Hobbit shook his head. "You have shown me understanding that I did not see from our male companions, and I am grateful..."

"Master Baggins, are you implying that I helped you because I am a woman?" Werna asked in disbelief.

"Well, you showed so much more compassion..."

"That is preposterous!" Werna hissed, still remembering to keep her voice down. She sounded irked and menacing nonetheless, and the Hobbit made a small step back. "I knew women are treated differently in the cities of Men, but I did not expect such prejudice from a Hobbit. The Khazad do not perceive women any inferior to men, Master baggins! Half of our armies are women, and we are not thought weaker, or more maudlin. I showed you kindness because you were making a fool out of yourself, and Dania asked me to support Tharkun's decisions on this quest! She told me he would bring us all to safety and victory."

"I… I apologise... " the Hobbit squeaked, and Werna exhaled sharply. She threw a look over the man in front of her. He looked pale, and she immediately forgot her aggravation.

"And you have to forgive my temper, Master Baggins. I spent the last three years accompanying merchants of Men in their travels, and I have to say I grew tired of making excuses for being a woman. It matters not for the Khazad, as long as one's axes are sharp, but Men..." Werna made a distressed noise.

The Hobbit mumbled something, and then sat on a fallen tree at Werna's feet. He pulled out a pipe from his clothes and started stuffing it with pipeweed. Werna watched his small hands move deftly. He had beautiful hair, she thought, golden, and in some sort of soft waves. She suddenly wondered what they felt like. She could almost imagine what it would be like to twirl one of the curls around her finger. And then she recoiled from her own thoughts, and shook her head. What a nonsense! They were on a quest! It was no time for mawkishness.

"Would you like some?" the Hobbit suddenly asked, lifting his face. Werna's cheek burnt from the ridiculous fear that the Hobbit could somehow guess her inappropriate thoughts.

"Pardon?" she asked, after having to clear her throat.

"Some pipeweed? Hornblower's finest." Werna could see that the Hobbit was uncertain whether it was appropriate to offer, but was trying to treat her as an equal. Somehow she found it quite endearing.

"Thank you, Master Baggins," she accepted, and picked up the pouch. She pulled out her pipe from the coat, and lit it up.

They smoked in silence for a while, and then the Hobbit returned to the camp.

* * *

 **FIND ME ON FACEBOOK!**

 **Writer's page Katya Kolmakov**

 **for updates, and news, and discounts in my Etsy shop!**

* * *

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{two romance webserials, both inspired by my writing here}

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Blind Carnival_

modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	6. Listeners Never Hear Any Good

**A/N: Have you seen my _The King and Wren_ Etsy shop? :) It is very small yet, but we are working on it :)**

 **Check out its Facebook page ( thekingandwren) and get a free printable MiniThorin postcard!**

 **Also, on Monday, December, 21 a new item will be available in the shop: my novella _The Black Smith and His Wife_ as a loose leaf book with original design and illustrations and as an instant download. It is an M rated fantasy story with protagonists inspired by Thorin/John/Darius and Wren/Olivia. You can have a peek into Chapter 16 of my story here, _The Fairytales From Under The Mountain,_ which inspired the novella.**

 **Love you, my dear readers, just as much as I love a certain grumpy King ;)**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

A few days into their journey they set their camp in a small clearing, and Bofur and Bifur were busy with the fire and supper. Thorin sat on a fallen tree to the side, listening to Balin and Dwalin continuing an old squabble. It was at least thirty years old. Thorin vaguely remembered the card game they were arguing about. He shook his head and shifted his eyes onto the rest of the company.

Some were nodding off, quiet conversations were led, Ori was scribbling in his book, Nori was polishing a dagger. The Hobbit sat to the side conversing with the wizard, and Thorin quickly looked away. He felt a wave of annoyance rise every time his gaze fell on the so called burglar. The Hobbit surely had no place among the company, and his constant fretting and irritating curiosity were a clear proof that he should have stayed in his warm and safe home.

And then Thorin realised that Fili, Kili, and the woman were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are Fili and Kili?" Thorin asked, his voice suddenly loud, and several company members looked at him.

"They went for water. There is a small river nearby, to the South," Bombur answered, pointing at the woods to their left, and Thorin turned and looked at the dark forest. "They should be back by now, though..." the round Dwarf mumbled, and Thorin rose.

"Do you want me to go find them?" Bofur called after him, but he was already marching in the direction Bombur had pointed.

* * *

He heard the voices even before he stepped out of the woods. She was laughing, and Fili's booming guffaw joined her.

"How do you even have any strength left after a day of travel?" Her voice rang, and then Thorin heard a thump of a heavy body hitting the ground.

"Apparently, we have less than my lady," Kili sounded strangled, and Thorin finally reached the small sandy beach.

In the bright moonlight he saw Fili sitting on a washed out log, smoking his pipe. Kili was prostrated on the sand, on his stomach, while the woman straddled him, his right arm twisted up and to the side in her firm grasp. Thorin stealthily stopped in the shadows of the trees. He pushed the thought that he was spying at the back of his mind, his eyes intently following what was happening on the beach.

"Do not try to flatter me, young man." Laughter rolled in her melodic voice. She released Kili and jumped off him. "And enough of this nonsense. We need rest."

"Clearly, the journey did not exhaust you, my lady. But Kili evidently needs to repose. You landed him on his backside into this sand three times by now, Lady Werna. If not his muscles, his ego must be bruised," Fili noted, pointing at his brother with his pipe. Kili grumbled something, probably insulting, and got up, brushing sand of his stomach.

"I have years of experience over the two of you," the woman answered pacifyingly. "After all, I am almost as old as your Uncle. It is just that _silver hides under gold_ ," she finished in Khuzdul and emitted another lilting laugh.

"Silver under gold?" Kili asked, and she picked up her heavy silken hair that had probably scattered on her shoulders through the sparring, and lifted the braids and curls. Grey hair glistened on the nape, indeed hiding under the coppered gold of her mane. "It is the luck of the Iron Hills redheads. Our vanity is spared for many Springs."

"But you were there, aye?" Kili asked. "When the Serpent attacked?"

The woman picked up her coat from the ground and started shaking sand and pine needles off it. The light brigandine hugged her body, under a waistcoat of warm brown colour, with fox fur on the collar.

"Aye, I was. But I was just a child. I did not see it then, we were in the Inner Halls." She pulled the coat on and was busy clasping the belt with the family crest on a buckle. "Why not ask your Uncle? He, after all, has been listening to our conversation for quite a while now."

Her tone was so even and nonchalant that the meaning had not reached Thorin's understanding right away, and then he saw his sister-sons jump on their feet. Thorin gritted his teeth and stepped into the moonlight. She lifted her eyes at him, and he thought he saw mockery in them.

She looked so much like the small portrait of her sister he still carried hidden in his clothes that the words of the harsh rebuke he prepared for her did not fall off his lips.

"Uncle," Kili mumbled, and Fili grasped his upper arm and pulled him towards the camp, picking up the waterskins they had come here to fill in the first place.

* * *

Thorin felt irked. He could not decide what to do. To turn around and go back to the camp would be most wise, since staying here with her would turn this so far trivial situation into something more. On the other hand, he had been caught like a child snooping around, and he probably owed her an explanation. He had none. Why he had stayed and listened and watched was beyond his understanding.

Her attentive eyes were on him, and somehow he felt she could clearly see his inner struggle. That aggravated him even more.

Her lips curled up in a small smile, and she tilted her head studying him.

"I apologise for our childish games," she announced. "Your sister-sons wanted to see the moves Master Arni had taught me, and I indulged them. They are just boys, and I felt they needed to be worn out before bedtime."

Thorin looked at her in astoundment, not knowing what to answer to this. He had not been addressed in such tone for many years. To think of it, he had hardly ever been jested with. Her eyes did not leave his face, teasing and bright, and the more confused he felt, the more disagreeable his mood was growing.

He wondered if answering would only cause more inappropriate frolics from her, and he was ready to turn away and leave her, when she suddenly laughed loudly.

"Dania mentioned you had a sharp and acidic wit, my lord." Thorin's body jerked at the mentioning of her sister's name, but he hoped he hid it well. "Surely, the King of Longbeards lurking in the dark, eavesdropping, is an anecdote you yourself could find amusing. Laughing at oneself is a sign of a noble humility," she as much as sing-songed.

"And mocking one's king is a sign of unwise dereliction," Thorin bit back, without thinking, and then gritted his teeth. She managed to lure him into a ridiculous verbal contest.

She smiled widely and, as he thought, in an arrogant triumph, and he twirled on his heels and stomped back into the camp. He tried to disregard the mixture of some discomforting unrest she had caused in his mind, and the petty pleasure from the fact that he had had the last word in their bickering.

Perhaps, he decided, he should try to stay away from her. It was becoming clear that unlike other members of the company, who only saw her as another warrior, and deservingly so, he just could not separate her in his mind from those alarming maudlin feelings that his association with her sister had been waking in him.

It was done and gone now, he reminded himself. Dania was never to be his again, and it was his own doing.

* * *

 _171 Years Ago, the Evening of The Day Before Smaug's Attack_

He pulled her hand, and she dug her heels into the floor.

"Thorin..." There was not firmness to her tone. "We will be missed. They will notice..."

"No one will notice. C'mon, Dania…" He turned around, since the girl was still standing frozen by the doors to the Great Hall, and he stepped closer to her.

"Thorin, we are supposed to be at the feast..." she mumbled, but then the pair of small hands lay on his chest, and he threw caution aside and wrapped his arms around her.

"The feast will be long and boring, and we will have no time to talk." He could see she was hesitant, and spurred by it he pushed further. "We will just find some quiet room... to talk, and then we will go to the feast. You can go first, if you do not want people to see us come together."

"That is not what I worry about..." she muttered, and then looked up. He suddenly noticed the strange colour of eyes, and the slanted shape, and how red her lips were.

"Dania, we are expected to become… good friends. And we know nothing of each other. You will tell me of what interests you, I will tell you what I care for."

"My books?" she whispered, without taking her eyes off his face. He realised she was looking at his lips.

"Your books," he agreed, and as if against his will his head was leaning lower. He saw blush spill on her high cheekbones, and then she exhaled sharply and jerked out of his embrace. He felt sharp disappointment, but then she picked up his hand.

"Alright, lead on. Let's talk." Her tone was business like, and he laughed.

He found it rather amusing how one's opinion of a person could change in a day. In the morning, after they stumbled upon each other in the passage, he felt she was the worst of nuisances, and now - her small strong hand wrapped around his and her amber coloured eyes wide open and trusting - he was starting to think that the whole arranged betrothal matter could be a quite pleasant idea to consider.


	7. Balin Worries

Balin worried. Thorin's mood was growing increasingly foul, and the redhead was the reason. Although Balin himself had encouraged Thorin to accept the maiden's generous offer to join them on the quest, he was feeling almost apprehensive now. Balin rarely felt optimistic on any other given day, and this quest made him shake his head in foreboding. The initial plan, the insufficient company, an unreadable map, a Wizard, and a Hobbit - none of these details promised any success. Adding an experienced warrior from the Khazad had seemed so auspicious! And now, the King just had to behave quite out of character and let her connection to his former betrothed affect him!

Balin had never approved of the association between the King and Dania, daughter of Lyr. Of course, he kept his thoughts to himself, but he was an old man, and he had seen life. Being a Dwarf he saw nothing faulty in an arranged marriage, but he knew how toiling a betrothal built purely on letters could be, and when Thorin broke his off, Balin sighed in relief. And sadness, of course, also filled his heart. The only glimpses of warmth in the lad's eyes could be seen when a new letter would arrive with a raven from the Iron Hills. But as Thorin confided in Balin in a rare moment of openness, he was indeed crownless and kingdomless, a King-in-Exile, and although Balin did not share his opinion, he could see how Thorin saw himself unworthy. Nothing but duty mattered to the lad, and he saw his in freeing Dania, daughter of Lyr of her obligations towards him. These were the exact words Thorin gave to Balin as an explanation, and of course nothing else. All Balin did was shook his head then.

And now a living reminder of what Thorin had given up was riding a pony, just a few feet away from them. She was indeed quite lovely, and Balin watched her laugh and jest with Bombur and Bifur.

The night before, Thorin had shown his temper. It was not unexpected, and yet Balin felt the King had been too harsh towards his nephews. Indeed, tormenting and scaring poor Master Baggins was cruel, but boys would be boys. And besides, it was quite clear that Lady Werna was planning to interfere. When Kili was done with his ridiculous unrealistic description of a night Orc raid, with 'quick and quiet' and 'lots of blood,' Balin saw Werna turn to the Hobbit and address him from her spot by the fire, probably intending to reassure him, but Thorin was already there, with his snarl, and a rebuke.

Balin had felt obliged to soften the situation. It felt nice to speak of the old times, and he saw the eyes of the princes and of the Hobbit light up. Lady Werna sat quietly through his tale of the Battle of Azanulbizar.

And then Fili turned to her and asked respectfully, "Were you there, my lady?"

Balin saw her face distort, and then she lowered her head and shook it, only slightly. A pause hung, and the Hobbit threw a questioning look at Balin.

"My father and my three brothers were." The maiden's voice was quiet, almost inaudible. "None returned."

"Oh..." the Hobbit exhaled, with a small squeak in his throat, and Lady Werna looked up at him. "My condolences."

"Thank you, Master Baggins. It was an honour for our family to fall side by side with our brothers in that battle," the maiden gave the Hobbit the usual line, and Balin saw Master Baggins' face grow aghast. It was easy to forget that the Hobbit did not see the noble death of one's kin in a combat as something to speak of with pride. "I was unfortunately held behind, but my Uncle had a chance to show his valour then." Lady Werna sighed and rose.

She nodded to those still sitting, commanding them to stay put, and left towards the shrubs nearby.

Thorin walked by, throwing an abrupt line about how he was certain that the Pale Orc had long time perished from his wounds, and Balin looked at the Wizard. Somehow he did not think they had heard the last of the Defiler, and something told him that that was a similar thought twinkling in the Wizard's eyes.

* * *

They continued their journey, and the rains started. They found a small cave for the camp, and Gloin started the fire. The clothes were being dried, and everyone sat around the fire, finishing their dinner, while Bifur, Fili, and Kili were on the first watch. Their loud laughter was heard from outside. Apparently, the rain was no obstacle to their frolics.

"We surely should separate children when sending out our watch," Lady Werna muttered, and several Dwarves chuckled.

Balin quickly looked at Thorin. A crinkle, even deeper than usual, lay between his brows. Balin sighed. He wondered if Thorin's irritation with her friendly, lively character - which Balin and others found so very pleasant - made the King disregard how capable she was. She was just another warrior here, and a skilled one, but Thorin seemed to only see faults in her. Was that the resemblance that bothered him, Balin wondered.

Balin had seen the small portrait, which Thorin seemed to never go anywhere without, and which he thought he hid well. The red haired woman on it was depicted sitting decorously, her small hands folded on her lap. She wore a opulent, dark blue velvet dress, a heavy pearl necklace, of many threads lay on her collarbones and in the cut of the dress. Her hair of coppered gold was pinned in a traditional do of the ladies of the Iron Hills. And her features, schooled in a poised, dignified expression - all of her face, with its turn up nose, slanted eyes of unusual form and colour, and the wide red mouth with full lips - exactly this face Balin now saw across from him. She was chewing a piece of dried meat, and snorting, entertained by some anecdote Nori had just finished telling, and Dwarves were chuckling, while the Hobbit looked between them, probably not certain how to react to the story.

Balin could vaguely remember the face of Lady Werna's mother. They shared blood on his mother's side, and he thought that she had the same features, high cheekbones, and the delicate bridge of nose. But while in the older sister, according to the portrait, this face bore a composed, and almost haughty expression, the woman in their camp had a mouth that laughed a lot, the eyes were bright, and she wrinkled her turn up nose, in a sincere merriment. There was fire in Werna, daughter of Lyr, and Balin, an old man as he was, could suddenly understand why the King was sitting to the side, pretending to sleep, his arms crossed on his chest in a stubborn gesture.

"I have trouble believing your story, Master Nori." Her lilting voice carried in the cave. "I have travelled near Kheled-zâram, and I do not remember local mentioning any giant eels in it." She threw the Dwarf an impish grin. Ori snorted loudly, and nudged his brother with an elbow. "But I did see the Durin's Stone, though." A pause hung above those talking, and the faces grew serious.

"You did?" Dwalin suddenly spoke, and Balin wondered if indeed it was the first time his brother had addressed the woman.

She shifted her cat-like eyes at him, and nodded decorously.

"Not many can claim to have seen the sacred pillar," Gloin muttered, doubt in his voice.

"It was after the Battle of Azanulbizar, several years after," she spoke calmly, not at all affected by the reaction. "I travelled with merchants, accompanied them to Enedwaith, and on the way back we travelled West to the Misty Mountain. My father was said to die looking at the lake. I had to see it."

"Did you see the star crown in it?" Ori breathed out, and Dori shushed him. She smiled warmly to the young Dwarf, making him blush and drop his eyes.

"Of course, not. Only Durin himself could see the reflection in it, remember the legend?"

"One day I will go to Moria as well!" Ori exclaimed, jerking his chin up, in his usual childish gesture, and instantly the Dwarven maiden's face grew sad.

"Nothing but death resides in those Mountains, Ori." Her tone was grave, and suddenly Balin saw the years that previously had been hiding behind the youthful look. There was no plumpness to her cheeks, and the lines in the corners of her strange mouth were bitter. There was wisdom and loss splashing in her fire opal eyes, and then she shook her head, as if chasing the melancholy away, and smiled widely. "Let us reclaim one Mountain at a time, Master Dwarf, aye?" she jested, and the company joined with merry laughter.

Balin noted how there was no sincere laughter in her eyes, and how she hid the distressed line of her lips behind the waterskin. He also could not help but notice how Thorin's blue eyes watched her intently.

Aye, Balin worried, and with each day he was growing more and more certain he had every reason to.

* * *

 ****YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT****

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **Etsy Shop _The King and Wren_**

{has its own page on Facebook}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{Dr. T Series, romance series, two stories complete, third one in progress,

updated every Saturday:

Summary: _Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle._ }

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Blind Carnival,_ updated every Thursday:

modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	8. Gandalf Leaves

Werna was taking the saddle off her pony, Buttercup, when she heard the Wizard and the King argue on the ruins of a farmhouse they were planning to set their camp on. Werna's hands moved in familiar sequence of actions, while she threw a discreet look over the animal. It was not hard to deduce what the dispute was about: they were after all quite close to Rivendell, and Tharkun's friendship with Lord Elrond was well-known. Daria had warned Werna that the Wizard was 'partial to the pointy eared wimps.' Something stopped Werna from the natural for her people animosity towards the Mibilkhagas. Even just using this derogatory in her mind, Werna still felt discomforted. Perhaps, those were her many travels, perhaps her generally open, accepting nature - the one she had been castigated for all her life - made her refrain from the unquestioned animosity towards the Elves.

"What are they arguing about?" The voice of the Hobbit shook her out of her thoughts.

She looked at the man. He stood on the other side of Buttercup, his eyes glued to the men still quarreling under the half broken roof. The nose of Master Baggins was doing its usual dance. Werna sighed. She wondered if he was showing more familiarity with her than with others because she was a woman. After all, he chose to come to her for the answer.

And then he turned to Lord Balin, who was unsaddling his pony couple feet away.

"Balin? Do you think everything is alright?"

Werna felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She, apparently, had been preposterous, and judgemental towards the Hobbit. She shook her head. That happened to her quite rarely. She wondered why she was so sensitive to Master Baggins' behaviour, constantly suspecting him of wrongdoings and erroneous thoughts, and consequently constantly being reassured by his reasonable behaviour. He was clearly quite a nice man. Apart from the mishap with the handkerchief, he seemed to have gotten used to the life on the road quite quickly.

An unsettling thought crawled into her mind that perhaps she was just looking more attentively into his behaviours, unlike being comfortable and comradely with other members of the company. Perhaps, she wanted him to make mistakes, so that the strange warmth spreading in her heart when she looked at him would be thwarted. Painful blush spilled on her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes at the saddle strings.

"Hard to tell," Lord Balin answered, and Werna sighed again.

At that moment the Wizard stomped by, mumbling something under his breath.

The Hobbit's face grew alarmed, and he called after him, "Gandalf, where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has got any sense," the Wizard threw over his shoulder, marching away. Werna walked around her pony joining the Hobbit and Lord Balin.

Tharkun's lanky figure was quickly disappearing, his pointy hat shaking in rage. Werna did not blame him: the King's temper, as much as she had expected him to be of severe disposition, could make the hardest armour crack.

"And who is that?" the Hobbit asked loudly, and the wizard's answer came as no surprise.

"Myself, Master Baggins! I have had enough of Dwarves for one day!"

Werna felt uneasy. Daria had always told her to rely on and put her trust in the Wizard. How were they to do so if he was nowhere near them?

"Come on, Bombur! We are hungry!" The King's irked voice boomed, and the company started moving around, tending to the camp.

"Is he coming back?" the Hobbit asked helplessly, and his eyes darted between Werna and Lord Balin. The white haired Dwarf shrugged, and shaking his head he walked away, joining his brother.

"He will come back," Werna reassured the Hobbit, and went back to her saddle.

"They seem to disagree on something," the Hobbit continued talking, and now he stepped closer to Buttercup again.

Werna looked at him from the corner of her eye. She shared his apprehension. Unlike her companions, she considered the Grey Wizard a crucial element in the quest. That was why the Hobbit was now confiding in her, Werna pacified herself. He felt they both were willing to support Tharkun, and that was what united them, and somehow separated them from the rest of the company. That was what it was, Werna repeated to herself, and not at all any sort of unusual… emotions on her part.

"I believe that it is about that part of the map that we cannot read," Werna spoke quietly, and then leaned in to the Hobbit. He jerked, and his funny upturned nose was twitching almost frantically. Werna ignored it. "I bet Tharkun wants to consult another Wizard, or an Elven lord on it, and I do not think King Thorin finds it agreeable."

"Do you..?" The Hobbit's voice broke for some reason, and he cleared his throat. "Do you find it… agreeable?"

Werna noted some strange stutter in the Hobbit's speech. She assumed it was caused by his concern caused by the Wizard's departure.

"I would not argue a direct order from King Thorin," she answered carefully. "But on the other hand, the Wizard's wisdom… it is not doubted by some in Middle Earth. Among them, my sister is his ardent supporter. And her judgement, so far, had never let me down."

Except once. Werna felt a sharp pang of pain in her chest, and she quickly recoiled from the thought in her habitual way. The heartbreak was as fresh as all those years ago, though. Werna tried to veer from the ache, just as she always had, but her mind raced. Had Daria not miscalculated then, Werna could have still possessed the heart of the man she loved. Werna clenched her teeth, chasing the thoughts away. He was not hers, had not been hers, she had to accept it. All it was now was past, and dust, and ashes. Ashes of her happiness, and her love, and there was no hope.

"Lady Werna?" the Hobbit called her softly, and she jolted and looked at him.

He was just an inch or so taller than her, and somehow she had been feeling so very protective of him. He felt smaller, more fragile, perhaps because she was used to Dwarven males, with their wide sturdy bodies, and their armour, and the coarse hair. The Hobbit had a delicate bone structure, smaller hands, beautiful wrists. But suddenly she saw some firmness and strength in him, and he smiled to her reassuringly.

"Are you quite alright? You have grown pale..."

Werna made herself nod and smile, although she felt the gesture was empty and her eyes were probably giving out her emotions. She scolded herself for untimely mawkish thoughts. She had accepted her heartbreak years ago. Why was she all of a sudden overwhelmed by this melancholy?

"Perhaps, King Thorin is right," she muttered, not daring to look in the King's direction. "I am just hungry."

The Hobbit chuckled.

"Me too, to be honest." He nodded to her and turned away to go towards the fire that Bombur had already started.

"Master Baggins?" Werna bit her tongue, but it was too late. She knew not what she was going to say, but something pushed her to call after him. Perhaps, she needed another look. But why?

He turned and gave her a warm friendly look. That was it, she answered to herself, it was that warmth in him that made her want to talk to him, or at least have him look at her. She cursed internally. She was very disappointed in herself. She had expected to manage this quest better. But being near King Thorin, with all her past, and despite all her determination, made her ache, and shiver, and Mahal forgive her, she just could not shake this melancholy off. And under the attentive affable look of the Hobbit's greenish greyish eyes she could breathe just a wee bit easier.

"Nothing. Nothing of importance..." She once again scolded herself for childish behaviour. The Hobbit studied her for an instant, and then left.

Werna pressed her forehead to the saddle skirt, and breathed out sharply, gathering her bearings.

When she straightened up, she thought she caught the sharp blue eyes of the King on herself, but he was already talking to Bofur, and Werna assured herself that she had imagined the tension in the King's gaze.

* * *

She was eating, amicably chatting with Dori and Nori, when she realised that the Hobbit was nowhere to be found. And for quite a while, to think of it.

"Where is Bilbo?" she asked Bofur, who was pouring another bowl of the stew for Bifur.

"I sent him to the lads, with their dinner. He should be back soon."

"The woods are not safe," Balin noted. "He should not wander alone."

"He is supposedly remarkably light on his feet," the King's sarcastic voice suddenly came from the fallen tree he was leaning on, sitting on the ground a wee to the side from all the company. "I would not worry." Werna noted that others stared at the King in shock. The snide remark was indeed surprising coming from the stern, reserved King.

Some uneasy feeling stirred in Werna's chest.

"I will go check." She got up, putting her bowl aside.

"I said he would be alright," the King suddenly gritted through his teeth, and Werna looked at him in surprise.

She could not understand his behaviour. There was nothing odd, or discouraged in looking after another member of a company. Others stared at the King as well, but he was only looking at her. His eyes were cold and resentful.

Going to look for the Hobbit would now be defying him.

Werna jerked her chin up. "Of course he will be. Perhaps, he would want company then." The King narrowed his eyes at her.

Werna twirled on her heels and marched towards where Fili and Kili were supposed to be. While she was carefully walking between trees and bushes, she asked herself what exactly had just transpired. Not only she could not quite summon the King's behaviour, she could not understand what pushed her to disobey his, given, veiled order.

* * *

 **~YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT~**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **Etsy Shop _The King and Wren_**

{has its own page on Facebook}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{Dr. T Series, romance series, two stories complete, third one in progress,

updated every Saturday:

Summary: _Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle._ }

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Blind Carnival,_ updated every Thursday:

modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	9. Chance Meeting and a Better Look

**A/N: Dear** **AnneDance1711** **and others who asked about my UPDATE SCHEDULE, here it is as of January 11, 2016 ****(sorry for the long author's note, feel free to skip it :D):**

* * *

 **1\. The central Middle Earth story, currently this one,** _ **Letters to Your Heart**_ **: updated once a week, tentatively on Mondays (maybe Tuesdays).**

 **The previous central story,** _ **Me Without You**_ **: probably once a week as well, but since it's mostly complete, it'll be updated when the mood strikes. I really don't want to say goodbye to it :)**

 **2\. Secondary story (usually a crossover, or a modern AU):**

 **currently** _ **Thorin Durinson and the Conundrum of the Ginger Transfer Student**_ **(Harry Potter crossover): it'll get the last chapter of the current part this week, or next one, and then it'll go on hiatus for a bit since I got distracted by…**

 _ **Read Like a Book**_ **(Sherlock FanFiction):** **PLEASE! check it out, if it's your cup of tea ;) Updated tentatively on Wednesdays.**

 **Note: Wren is there too, and John Thorington may, or may not - that wouldn't be a good mystery story, if I told you now ;) - be there as well.**

 **3.** _ **Baby, It's Cold Outside!**_ **: one more chapter left, will be updated within the next two weeks.**

 **4\. Assorted one shot collections: when the mood strikes.**

 **5.** _ **Blind Carniva**_ _ **l**_ **on JukePop dot com: every Thursday.**

 **6.** _ **Dr. T Series**_ **on my blog (kolmakov dot ca):** **every Saturday.**

* * *

 **If you have any questions regarding a certain story, feel free to PM me, or contact me on Facebook! Links to my other media under the chapter.**

* * *

 **And now, to Middle Earth!**

 **(Phew, that was a long note…:D)**

* * *

 **Love you all ardently,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 _171 Years Ago, the Evening of the Day Before the Smaug's Attack_

Thorin straightened out the buckle on his belt, looking himself over in a dim mirror on the wall of his bedchambers. A knock came to the door, and he allowed a visitor entrance.

His father stepped into the room, and Thorin squared his shoulders.

"Adad," he greeted Thrain respectfully, and the King's son nodded to him, looking him over. Thorin was pleased to see the approval in his father's eyes.

"I see you are ready for the feast. The envoys from the Iron Hills are already in the Great Hall. We should go pay our respects to our guests." Thorin caught the underlying meaning in his father's words.

The Prince clasped his hands behind his back, pondering how to appropriately breach the subject of Dain Ironfoot's niece who was among the guests. He knew, of course, of the unofficial agreement between their families. And he knew of the noble blood that ran in her veins, and he doubted not her upbringing. Dania, daughter of Lyr, was as much as his betrothed, although he knew that both of them had the right to argue the arrangement.

He felt equal part curiosity, and equal part irritation regarding this fact. And again, he suspected that he had met her this morning. That was quite a temper she had shown when they ran into each other in a passage!

He suddenly found their encounter rather entertaining. She called him an idiot and compared him to a crayfish, and all that in the course of five minutes! And then he remembered the haughty expression, and the fiery curls, and the turn up nose. She was clearly impertinent, rash, and quarrelsome. And yet, he just could not say he fully opposed to the idea of knowing her better. Perhaps, at the feast, where her manners would be improved by the formal circumstances he could look into her character more thoroughly. And then he thought of the proud set of the head, and a beautiful long neck, and the strong round shoulders. And the way her velvet dress hugged her hips, and how she marched away from him in the passage, and how the skirt moved around her perky…

"Thorin?" His father's voice shook him out of the untimely sensual thoughts, and Thorin looked at his adad.

"I am ready to go, father," Thorin answered, and they left the rooms together. After all, Thorin decided, what was there to discuss? He was perfectly capable of assessing his potential bride himself.

* * *

They were approaching the Great Hall when Thorin heard some hushed voices in one of the alcoves.

"Why do I have to go?" A girl's voice was muffled, but sounded no less irked. "I have already seen the prince, and I have no desire to spend hours staring at him. I have other things to do!"

"You need to go and meet him formally." Another young female voice came, much calmer and more poised. Thorin stared at the curtain covering the alcove, and then he heard a low chuckle from his father.

Before Thorin could say or do anything, his father sped up and disappeared around the corner.

"I ran into Prince Thorin this morning," the first voice continued stubbornly, "So I consider us officially introduced. At least my shoulder has met his elbow by now."

"Oh, I know you, sister, better than you know yourself. As much as you bristle and grumble, your little heart flutters when you mention him. Look at how your cheeks burn! I have never seen you grow that flustered over a boy. Your chest is heaving!"

"Do close your mouth, sister!" the first girl hissed.

"Did you notice his?" The second girl would not relent. "They say he has beautiful lips. And the brightest blue eyes!"

"Mahal help, I do not have to stay and listen to this rubbish!"

The curtain covering the alcove moved, and the red haired girl from the morning stepped out.

And then she froze in front of him, her slanted eyes widened, the red lips parted slightly.

Thorin stood in front of her, enjoying the view of her cheeks flaming up, and then she threw a quick cowardly look at the alcove behind her. There was a giggle, and then a hand, invisible behind the curtain, pushed the redhead into her back and towards him.

"Go, Dania, talk to him!" the other girl sing-songed, still hidden behind the drapery.

"What?.." the maiden in front of Thorin breathed out, and he grabbed her hand and pulled. He expected her to dig her heels into the floor, but she hesitated only a jiffy, and then she obediently walked after him. There was another giggle from behind the velvet.

* * *

He convinced her to delay going into the Great Hall for just a few minutes, although he had expected her to refuse, but blushing and stuttering she agreed, and he walked into a small musical room, with his harp in the center of it, and he led her on a settee. She sat down, keeping her distance, and stared into the carpet.

"So, your books..." he drew out. She said she wanted to talk about them.

He was studying her profile, and a small delicate ear, and a copper curl near it. She had an exquisite jaw line, gentle, but willful, and the lashes were long and thick, and he imagined pressing his lips to her cheekbone.

She lifted her eyes at him and blurted out, "If we do not favour each other, we would not have to wed, would we?"

He blinked and then grinned to her. He had little experience with maidens - after all he was only twenty four - but even he could see that there was a fair amount of... favouring happening.

"Nay, we would not," he said, and saw her even white teeth worry the bottom lip. It was bright red and plump, and Thorin craved a taste as well.

He had kissed a few girls by now - nothing lewd, of course - and he even thought he fancied that smith's apprentice he shared a tutor with, but he was quickly realising that the merry fire that was now burning in his body and his mind had been unprecedented. Dania, daughter of Lyr had enthralled him.

He felt curious about her mind as well, no less than he was enticed by her body and the face. He could see she was lively, and stubborn, and as if to confirm his evaluation she drew a sharp breath and looked up at him with an obstinate expression on her lovely face.

"And if we happen to favour another, it is our right to marry whomever we want, aye?" she asked, and jealousy slashed across his heart.

"Is there… another?" he asked, his voice low and raspy, and she blinked, suddenly looking confused.

"What? No… that is not what..." she mumbled, and fidgeted with a long string of pearls dangling from her elaborate necklace.

"Is there another?" he asked more firmly, and moved closer to her on the settee. A sweet aroma of some flowers tickled his nose.

"No," she whispered, and he knew not himself what pushed him to behave so boldly - and in the first minutes of the conversation - but he lifted her chin with his index finger under it, and the long lashes flew up, and the pair of slanted eyes of the colour of fire opal peered into his, and he leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.

He expected her to gasp, or to wince away, but she eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him ardently. He felt worried for an instant, that she was more experienced, and that he would show himself lacking, but then all thoughts vacated his mind.

"Thorin..." she whispered into his lips, and he was going to return the favour. He wanted to taste her sweet name on his lips as well, but she rushed into another buss, and he forgot the intention.

"Will we not speak of your books?" he asked jesting, a few minutes later, and she laughed merrily.

"Perhaps, later." Her eyes were bright, and smile was dancing in them, and he smirked lopsidedly. "And I rather talk of that axe you mentioned to your friend when you bumped into me."

"Ahhh," he hummed confirming. "I did not like the langet on it." He suddenly felt very pleased that they already had some shared memories. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, above the beard. Some strange buzzing sensation ran his spine.

"Fascinating. Tell me more," she murmured.

As inexperienced as he was, Thorin was quite certain she could not care less about the langet of his axe. He turned his head and caught her mouth again.

* * *

 _171 Years Later, the Quest for Erebor_

Thorin was smoking his pipe in irritation, pretending to listen to what others were talking about. When his teeth once again scraped on the bit of the pipe, he shifted on his fallen tree, irked. He tried to disregard the annoyance that was nagging at him, but it seemed to be unescapable. What was the woman thinking? he grumbled internally. She had defied his order, and she was supposed to stay in the camp. The woods were not safe, and surely even the Hobbit could manage with the aid from Fili and Kili. She claimed to be an experienced warrior. She surely did not show herself as one. And the Hobbit - Thorin gritted his teeth - the Halfling did not belong on the quest. He only caused trouble, and Mahal help them, some day they would have to save him from some danger, and it would either delay, or halt them altogether.

And then Fili rolled on the clearing they were sitting on, a sword in each hand, urgency and fear colouring his face.

"Trolls! There are trolls there! The Hobbit went to them, and they caught him. Lady Werna went in, and Kili too!"

* * *

 **A/N: And the next chapter is written already :) How soon do you want it posted? :P (Screw the schedule :D)**

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

Facebook Writer's Page: Katya Kolmakov

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

Etsy Shop _The King and Wren_

{has its own page on Facebook}

My blog: kolmakov dot ca

{Dr. T Series, romance series, two stories complete, third one in progress,

updated every Saturday:

Summary: _Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle._ }

JukePop: Katya Kolmakov

{ _Blind Carnival,_ updated every Thursday:

modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

Twitter: katyakolmakov

Instagram: kkolmakov

Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff

Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov

DevianArt: kkolmakov

* * *

My book on Amazon!

CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER

{my first novel

inspired by the story initially written here}

Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!

* * *

 _Summary:_

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	10. Trolls

Fili rolled on the clearing they were sitting on, a sword in each hand, urgency and fear colouring his face.

"Trolls! There are trolls there! The Hobbit went to them, and they caught him. Lady Werna went in, and Kili too!" He was still shouting in the panicked voice, when others had already grabbed their weapons, and Thorin rushed through the woods towards where Fili was pointing. He could still hear Fili behind him, "Lady Werna sent me here!"

Kili and the woman were fighting together. The Hobbit was dashing around the troll camp aimlessly, but from the first glance Thorin gathered he had doubted Werna, daughter of Lyr unfairly. She was moving swiftly, using Kili as a distraction, but utilising his strengths. The boy was well trained, Thorin had seen to it himself, and Thorin summoned all their night dalliances by the river, which he previously had considered the waste of time, now allowed the woman to fight at her best in tandem with Kili. She was barking short orders, and the boy listened.

She fought with two long handled battle axes, and he heard a pained yelp from one of the trolls.

The skin of the monsters was thick, but their blades seemed to be leaving noticeable marks, and Dwalin's mace was especially efficient, considering the rain of troll teeth that Thorin just saw from the corner of his eye.

Thorin was quickly calculating how they should regroup to gain advantage over the trolls, when suddenly he heard her panicked scream.

"Bilbo!"

Thorin twirled on his heels, avoiding a swing of a troll's giant fist, and saw her running towards another monster who was holding the Hobbit upside down.

"Dania!" Thorin shouted, petrifying horror coming over him. Fighting among other warriors and evading blows that were falling from every side was one thing; trying to take on a monster by herself was quite a different matter.

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes widened, but he saw her gain speed, and then she slid on the ground, cutting the troll under his knees. The beast wailed, and dropped the Hobbit on the ground.

And then two of the monsters lunged ahead at the same time, and while she evaded one, another grabbed her across her waist. He gave her a violent shake, copper braids swung in the air, but she was still holding her axes tightly. Thorin saw her twist her body, clearly to drop her axe on the troll's arm, and then the other two grabbed the Hobbit.

It was the Hobbit's fault! Instead of running and hiding, and letting those who knew what they were doing fight, the dimwit was trying to help the woman out. He had hung on a troll's arm, Mahal be merciful! What sort of stupidity was this?! She was clearly managing without him!

"Lay down your arms! Or we will rip his off!" a troll growled, and Thorin had a momentary doubt. Was the Hobbit worth it after all? And would it not be a convenient moment to rid themselves of this nuisance? And then he scolded himself. Master Baggins was a member of their company now, useless, or not.

"Thorin!" the woman's voice came, enraged and terrified, and Thorin understood she thought he did not deem the Hobbit worthy of their sacrifice. Her axes fell on the ground with loud thuds.

Thorin scoffed, and stuck Deathless into the ground.

While others were wriggling and squirming in the bags, Thorin grabbed the rope with his teeth and tried to pull. It was tight, but he was relentless. He half listened to the trolls arguing about which way it was best to cook them, and Thorin surely did not care to find out what their eventual recipe would be.

"Never mind the seasoning, we ain't got all night! Dawn ain't far away, let's get a move on! I don't fancy been turned to stone," grumbled one of the trolls. Thorin froze with the rope between his teeth. Of course! They were mountain trolls, they…

"They will turn to stone at dawn." The woman's hushed voice came from his right, and he looked. She was stuffed in a sack just all of them. Their eyes met. She did not look scared, and some unfamiliar feeling stirred in his mind. He felt as if proud for her, for her composure, and surely it was nonsense! Why would he?

"Wait! You are making a terrible mistake," the hobbit suddenly cried out. He wiggled, and rose on his feet, hopping now towards the trolls. Thorin threw a look at the woman, and she pointed at the Hobbit with her slanted eyes. Thorin nodded, confirming that he understood the Halfling's intentions.

"I meant with the… uh, with the… with the seasoning," the Hobbit continued.

"What about the seasoning?" a troll asked suspiciously.

"Well, have you smelt them? You are going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up!"

Thorin caught the end of the rope with his teeth again, and started pulling, while the ridiculous conversation between the Hobbit and the trolls continued. It mattered not what was said, they just had to last till the sun rose.

The others were shouting insults at the Hobbit - unsurprisingly not catching up on his cunning plan - and Thorin added his feigned enraged, "Traitor!" into the choir. He felt the knot on his sack give in a bit.

The woman was moving as well, and suddenly she jerked, and her sack rolled closer to him.

"How much longer?" she hissed at him, and he shook his head without releasing the rope. He feared it was still far too long till the dawn.

The Hobbit changed his tune, and was now announcing that they had 'worms in their tubes.' Perhaps, he was not a complete idiot as Thorin had thought him to be, but then Kili had to argue!

Thorin gave him a nice forceful kick under the ribs. The boy choked on his screams, but his new hollering was no less preposterous!

"Mine are the biggest parasites! I have got huge parasites!" he yelled, and Thorin saw the woman roll her eyes. Indeed, the boy's competitiveness was beyond irritating.

"This little ferret is taking us for fools!" another troll sneered, and suddenly stepped to the rock where the company was piled. He reached and grabbed the woman's sack, by her legs. She spat a dirty swearing in Khuzdul, and Thorin roared and jerked in his bag.

"You are right! Nothing wrong in a raw Dwarf. This one looks tender and juicy!"

No, not her, just not her - the thought thrashed in Thorin's mind, and then a booming voice came from the rock above them.

"The dawn will take you all!"

Thorin recognised it immediately, and just as he guessed, Tharkun stepped to the edge of the cliff, his lanky figure lit from behind.

"Who is that?" the first troll asked.

"No idea," another answered.

"Can we eat him too?" the third one chimed in, and then the Wizard stepped aside, and his staff fell with a deafening noise, and the cliff split in two letting the rising sun's light fall on the trolls.

And with a hiss, and a groan, and a moan they turned into stone.

* * *

"Where did you go to, if I may ask?" Thorin asked, approaching Gandalf who was knocking on the trolls with his staff.

"To look ahead." The wizard apparently considered himself very smart.

"What brought you back?' Thorin continued their ridiculous banter. From the corner of his eye he saw the company gathering their bearings. He noted to himself some of them had to be looked at by Oin when they had a moment of peace. It seemed, though, that no bones had been broken.

"Looking behind," Tharkun answered in his usual manner. Thorin shook his head. Relief was washing over him, and the tension and the fear were leaving his mind. he was feeling almost entertained by the whole adventure. He looked at the three ugly statues in front of him.

"Nasty business," Gandalf murmured. "Still, they all are in one piece."

"No thanks to your burglar." Thorin discreetly threw a glance towards the company. Master Baggins was leaning on a tree, and the woman stood in front of him. He saw her gently touch the Hobbit's arm, as if asking whether he was unscathed, and Thorin quickly took his eyes off them.

"He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that." The wizard gave him a pointed look.

And then the two of them arrived to a very logical assumption - clearly, the trolls had a cave nearby. Thorin turned away from the wizard, to go investigate, when the man called after him.

"Thorin?" His tone was nonchalant, but he did not deceive anyone. Thorin braced himself for yet another annoying commentary. "If I were you, I would stay away from Lady Werna for some time."

What sort of poppycock was that? Thorin threw the wizard a glare. It was of no one's concern whom he associated with, and he especially did not appreciate any hints of the sort. They were on the quest, Mahal save them! And she was nothing but another member of the company!

"No woman would appreciate to be called by the name of another," the wizard drew out, and walked away.

Thorin felt momentarily confused, but then realisation replaced the irritation.

She just looked so much like the portrait! Thorin's hand jerked, as if he were tempted to pull the silver case from under his waistcoat, and then he swore under his breath. The wizard was right, he definitely should stay away from the woman, and not just for now.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **Etsy Shop _The King and Wren_**

{has its own page on Facebook}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

{Romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.}

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Ani,_ fantasy bildungsroman & _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	11. Two Blades

**A/N: Thorin gnawing at a rope in the previous chapter can actually be seen in the film :) Check it out, it's adorable :)**

 **A/N#2: OK, you asked for the previous chapter to be updated before its scheduled day, and then almost no one read or reviewed it :( Are two times a week too much? I'm not being snide, I'm looking for the best schedule for everyone. I know we all have lives outside the silly little world of FF :) Should I stick with Mondays?**

 **A/N#3: Please, if you read Sherlock FanFiction, check out my** _ **Read Like a Book**_ **story. And reviews, maybe? ;) I am in dire need of feedback. I'm rather insecure in that new fandom.**

 **Wren is there too of course, and John Thorington as well (who is more Porter that Thornton). I decided that my first shy attempt will need my usual characters, to boost my confidence, and to keep them consistent.**

 **The story will be updated on Wednesdays.**

 **Yours truly,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

The stench in the troll cave was almost unbearable, and Werna pressed her sleeve over her nose and mouth. As the daughter of her people, she of course immediately noticed the gold and gems scattered on the dirt of the cave floor, but she did not follow others inside.

As much as she scolded herself internally, as much as she fought against her untimely mawkishness, she just could not help it. She lingered outside the cave, and joined the Hobbit. She had been so scared for him during the fight!

He stood staring at some bits and bobs on the ground.

"Are you quite alright, Master Baggins?" Werna asked softly. The Hobbit lifted his eyes at her and gave her a shaky nod.

"I have never… never been in a fight. And Trolls... I have never seen the likes of them."

"You acted bravely, Master Baggins. I saw you try to free the ponies."

"I got caught," the Hobbit scoffed bitterly. "If not for me, they would not even have known we were around."

"They were going to make stew out of our ponies, Master Baggins. They knew we were around," Werna reminded, and he frowned even more.

"See? I am such a clot..."

"You risked your life to save mine!" Werna did not realise she had moved closer, and then her hand lay on his forearm. She felt compassion flood her. "You tried to take on a Troll all by yourself. I will never forget it."

He lifted his face, and their eyes met.

"I truly do not belong on this quest..." he mumbled, and Werna felt her heart drop.

"Do not doubt the Wizard, Master Baggins. I truly believe that your willing heart will be more important on this journey that your lack of skill with a sword. And," she whispered, leaning to him, "We could always use a wee bit of common sense in this company."

She only realised how close she was to him when she saw his eyes widen, and pupils flood the greyish greenish irises. Blood rushed away from her cheeks. In her desire to reassure him, she had just behaved so inappropriately!

"What have they found inside?" Dori's approaching voice made Werna jump away from the Hobbit. Master Baggins looked no less guilty, as if they had been caught in a compromising position. Werna could not have castigated herself more harshly! What sort of foolishness was that?!

She cleared her throat.

"Gold, and other valuables. It is hard to tell with all that untidiness, but the hoard seemed generous. I believe Nori and Gloin are burying a small trunk now."

"Very judicious indeed," Dori answered in a pleased tone, and headed towards the cave. Werna rushed away from the Hobbit, towards Ori who was picking through some debris in the fallen leaves.

Werna's heart was beating frantically, and she just could not take her emotions under control. She could not quite understand herself! But then she thought back at the events of the fight, and remembered his wan face, and his limbs in the monstrous paws of the Trolls, and suffocating panic flooded her once again. As many warriors, she had the ability to take her nerves under control in the situation of emergency, but now all those emotions she could put aside when needed were rushing back: the fear for him, the tension, the momentary doubt that the King would put down his weapons and order the company to do the same… and the cold rage that filled her when she saw the pale, terrified face of the King-in-Exile.

" _Dania!"_

Werna pretended to listen to Ori's stumbled musings regarding the rubbish under their feet. Her hands were shaking, and she hid them behind her back. Dania, Dania, of course, Dania was all that mattered. She did not expect that she would be so affected. After all, it was to be expected, Werna reminded herself in a futile attempt to calm down. She looked just like the portrait that had been sent to him all those years ago. She had brought him the letter, written by the familiar hand, with the words that had been chosen carefully to affect him most.

She had anticipated ache, and even despair. She did not expect the bitterness and contempt. Why was it that she suddenly could not find a single shred of cordiality towards him?! She searched her mind… and realised that he had disappointed her. She knew of his astute mind, and of his sound judgement. She was not her sister! She was not his Dania! She was a warrior and showed herself as such! She was capable, skilled, and she deserved respect! She just could not gather how he could be that short-sighted and so emotional. He was surely capable of seeing her in fairness, and instead she was nothing but a poor replacement for the former betrothed for him!

"Bilbo!" the Wizard called from the entrance to the cave, and Werna saw the Hobbit approach the tall man. Something was passed into Master Baggins' hands, and Werna could not help but stretch her neck in curiosity.

It was a blade. It looked like an Elven dagger, and of fine quality, for that matter.

The Wizard stepped away, the Hobbit turned and looked at her. His nose twitched, and there was a plea in his eyes. He was clearly wishing to discuss it with her, and she knew she was not to indulge him! Werna called herself "a sentimental, weak, nonsensical hen" and walked towards him.

"It is a sword, an Elven sword," he spoke quietly, and his eyes roamed the scabbard. Werna looked as well.

"I doubt it, Master Baggins. Considering the Elven height, it is most likely a dagger. But it will be very appropriate for your size."

He threw her a look, and she was astonished to see certain mischief dance in his eyes.

"I am the same height as you are, mi'lady. I do not see you running around with a butter knife." Werna snorted, surprised and amused at the same time.

"I can kill an Orc with a butter knife without much difficulty, Master Baggins," she spoke just as quietly, once again lowering her head to his. Why she was bragging, she just could not gather. She saw his throat bob in a strained swallow, but somehow she felt it was not fear, or censure, that made him look at her so intently.

"I rather hope I will never have to observe it, mi'lady," he answered, and she chuckled. He joined her, his eyes warming up. "Perhaps, you should have it..." He stretched his hands to her, with the blade lying awkwardly on his palms.

Werna covered it with her right hand.

"Keep it, Master Baggins. One day it could save your life." She should have stopped then, but the next words fell off her lips. "And one, or all of us. I have utter faith in you."

Faint blush coloured th Hobbit's cheeks, and then the King's voice boomed.

"Something is coming!"

Werna's hands flew to her axes.

"Stay together! Hurry, now! Arm yourselves!" Tharkun barked his commands, and Werna rushed ahead. She could hear the Hobbit's steps behind her.

Werna joined the company that had formed a circle on the clearing, prepared for an assault, and from the corner of her eyes she caught the view of Fili stepping forward, shielding the Hobbit. Werna gave the Prince an approving nod, which he returned, bracing a sword in each hand.

A shabby looking old man on a sled, pulled - no less - by about a dozen massive rabbits, was certainly not what Werna expected they had to protect themselves against. Thank Mahal, they did not have to. The man turned out to be a Wizard, and an acquaintance of Tharkun, and a few minutes later - filled with some incomprehensive shouts from the man, and Gandalf's reassuring - the two Wizards stepped aside, leading some hushed conversation.

The company found convenient roots and hillocks, and sat down, smoking pipes, and waiting for Gandalf.

Werna saw the King and Dwalin discuss an Elven blade that Thorin held in his hands. It was exquisite! Long, with the perfect curve, clearly heavy, and flawlessly balanced, it looked as if it had been made for him. Werna, as little as she was prone to bloodthirst, could not wait to see it in a combat.

She realised she had been caught ogling the sword only when her eyes followed the superb curvature of the blade spine, and going up met the blue irises of the King. Werna blinked, and dropped her eyes to the ground. She should have just been nonchalant about it, she berated herself. She was curious of an outstanding weapon, it was not at all shameful. And now it looked as if she were looking at the man, and not the blade.

And then a low raspy howl pierced the air, and Werna felt the familiar jolt of alarm ran her nerves. Wargs - she knew their voices only too well.

"Was that a wolf? Are there… are there wolves out there?" the Halfling asked.

"Wolves? No, that is not a wolf," Bofur answered, and Werna was already on her feet, her blades in her hands.

The first beast was closer than any of them expected. It jumped, toppling Dori on the ground. And then with a squelching noise King Thorin's new blade hacked into the monster's neck, almost decapitating it in one blow. Of course, in actuality Werna had not wished a combat to happen sooner, but she could not help but admire the skill. The man and the sword moved as one, with the fluidity of impossible familiarity. None, especially if shorter than the King, would wield it better than him.

Another warg appeared from the woods, and Kili's arrow pierced its thick fur. It fell to Werna's feet, and she lowered her axes, burying them at the base of the beast's skull. Dwalin's hammer finished the job.

"Warg scouts," the King snarled. "Which means an Orc pack is not far behind!"

"Orc pack?" The Halfling looked terrified.

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Tharkun demanded an answer.

"No one," the King growled back, his brows drawn together.

"Who did you tell?!" the Wizard insited.

"No one, I swear!" Thorin answered, his face dark. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted." The Wizard's grave announcement made shivers crawl Werna's spine. Perhaps, she suddenly thought, there was much more to their quest than just an attempt to reclaim a mountain.

The mad wizard, Radagast, offered to draw their pursuers off, and it was quite fortunate. Their ponies had fled, and they were now on foot, and followed by an Orc pack. Any help was welcome at the moment. Still, Werna threw a doubtful look at the rabbits, feeling a short pang of sympathy for them - they were to become Warg dinner. The brown Wizard jumped in his sled, and was gone.

And the company rushed out of the woods, and Mahal knew into what trouble.


	12. Wargs and Vegetables

They ran and ran, and she could hear Wargs howling and growling at a distance, and she could almost imagine their bared teeth and the putrid breath.

At some point Dori stumbled near her, and she supported him, and quickly threw a look over the company. They seemed to keep a good speed, she could see the King at the end of the procession, Kili and Fili at the head, following Tharkun.

It was clear to her from the start that they had very little chance to escape, but small hope stirred in her, since the noise of the chase seemed to be further and further away.

They had to change direction, and now the King was running ahead of her, and then they had to hide behind some large boulders. When she heard a low growl above them, Werna grasped the handles of her axes more firmly. She saw the King signal Kili to shoot, and she braced herself.

With one warg and its rider out of the way, they now had the whole pack on their pursuit. And somehow she had a feeling that the Wizard had a certain destination in his mind, which was only confirmed by the King's question. Otherwise, why would Tharkun lead them into the open where they were clearly seen and incapable of protecting their backs?

Just as she expected, they ended up surrounded, and the ring of Orcs and Wargs was closing.

"Hold your ground!" She heard the King's voice, and saw Dwalin swing his mace.

Just as always before a fight, she felt her heart race, and she took a calming breath in. The feeling of familiar weight of the weapons helped, and her vision sharpened. She quickly scrutinised the company, seeing how Ori moved behind his brothers, and the King's nephews stepped ahead, and Bofur raised his axe, shielding the Hobbit.

And then the Wizard's head popped up among some rocks, and he called to them. One by one the Dwarves slid down, over the rock, into some sort of opening, and Werna slowly moved backwards, keeping an eye on the Wargs. They were starting to understand that the prey was escaping. And then the first one jumped ahead, only to be stopped by Kili's arrow.

The boys stayed behind the company, so very eager, and Werna yelled, "Fili!" while the King barked at the younger one. The boys ran towards them, and that's when the King lowered his sword on the neck of the closest beast. Werna rushed to him, only to be cut off by another Warg. It jumped at her, and she swirled, in a trained move, aiming the axes into the base of the skull.

"Werna!" the King's voice rang, and he was near her the next instant. The beast fell to her feet, and the King's Elven blade entered its neck with a squelching noise.

"It was dead!" she barked at him, the thrill of a fight rushing through her veins. All her decour washed off her, and all she wanted was for him to finally see her worth!

Their eyes met, and she saw the brilliant blue irises, and then he stepped to her.

He suddenly smiled to her, his face changing completely, lit up with some warmth, as she had never seen it before, and she gasped.

"I do not doubt you, Werna," he spoke softly, and she forgot where they were.

And only when a second later Fili and Kili jumped into the crevice, and the King broke the connection between their locked eyes, she remembered they were under attack.

She dove after the nephews, rightfully assuming that the King would be the last, and landed at the bottom of the cave.

* * *

Rivendell. They were in Rivendell. The Wizard led them to the Elves.

After a rather rocky beginning, when Tharkun had to mollify tempers, and negotiate their stay in the Last Homely House, King Thorin begrudgingly accepted the hardly warm welcome of the Elven Lord.

They were shown to a large room, where the company started angrily jerking off their outer garments, arguing, and making insulting remarks regarding their hosts, while the Hobbit sat to the side, on a stool too tall for him. He seemed pale and shaken, the excitement he had shown when they entered Rivendell now subsiding, and possibly the shock of the Warg attack finally catching up with him.

Werna realised she craved to approach him - and that was exactly why she did not. It was time to admit her feelings towards him were… exceeding the camaraderie she felt towards others, and she now had to be careful. They were on the quest, and it was clearly showing itself much more dangerous than they had foreseen. It was no time for mawkishness.

She pulled off her coat and flopped on the nearest bench. The axes and the scabbard with the sword seemed to weigh tenfold. She carefully placed them near her, lay back, and groaned stretching her back.

"We are expected at dinner with Lord Elrond," the King grumbled, walking between his warriors. Irked murmur ran among them, and Werna smirked without opening her eyes. The company of Thorin Oakenshield at dinner table of an Elven Lord… a spectacle worth seeing!

"No need to look so pleased." She suddenly heard the King's low whisper, and her eyes flew open. He was standing above her, seemingly preoccupied with unbuckling his outer coat's belt. She stared at him, and suddenly he threw her a look from the corner of his eyes. She could not believe it! Mahal help her, was that mischief dancing in the blue irises?! "You are sitting at the table with me, so that it is at least barely tolerable."

She was still looking at him with widened eyes, and a corner of his lips twitched.

"The Elves have different traditions," Balin suddenly spoke at the background, seemingly addressing no one, his voice soft and nonchalant. "They expect a lady to wear skirts and behave differently from men." Werna turned her head on the bench and looked at the white haired Khuzd.

"I do not have any skirts with me," she gasped out in a feigned terror, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically. "Should I pull off a drapery and wrap in it?"

Bofur barked a loud guffaw at the background, and others joined in.

"I thought the Elves have equality between men and women," the Hobbit interrupted, his voice distressed, and Werna saw the King throw a frowned look at the Halfling.

"Not when it comes to trousers," Werna tried to soften the situation with a jest, and the company roared with laughter.

* * *

They went down to the balcony where the dinner was to take place, and the trouble started right away. There was only one chair, clearly prepared for King Thorin, at the table of Lord Elrond and Tharkun.

Werna who walked her arm looped through the King's quickly peered at him, and as she expected she saw him press his lips in a stern line. The Elves of course could not know that he would expect her to sit beside him, but she also knew he would not be willing to ask for any changes.

She could also feel curious eyes of several Elves on her. She had cleaned her doublet and rebraided her hair, but she assumed she still looked to most of their hosts as yet another warrior from the company. Why she would walk hand in hand with the King - and Werna was industriously ignoring how aware she was of his proximity - would puzzle the Elves.

"Lord Elrond," the Wizard's warm voice came from behind them, and Werna felt the King tense beside her. "Allow me to introduce to you Lady Werna, daughter of Lyr, the sister-daughter of Lord Dain Ironfoot."

Werna lifted her face and met the greenish grey eyes of the Elven Lord. He had quite a striking appearance. He gave her a small polite bow, and she returned the gesture decorously. There was some movement behind her, and another chair appeared to the right hand of the King's seat.

They sat down, and the unhurried conversation started. The Wizard and the Elf were the only ones talking. King Thorin drank his wine, and as much as glared at their host, and Werna wisely kept her mouth shut as well, enjoying some fragrant roasted root vegetables. She would rather have some venison stew, but as they say, in others halls, other goblets.

"It is an honour to see you in our home, Lady Werna," Lord Elrond suddenly addressed her, and she froze with a goblet lifted to her lips. "It is rare that we receive the visitation of the heirs of two prominent Dwarven bloodlines." Werna heard a quiet disdainful scoff from King Thorin.

Werna studied the face of Lord Elrond. She was quite good at reading emotions in the features of others, and she had to concede she quite enjoyed the even, slightly amused expression in the Elf's eyes.

"And I assume you feel very content now that your curiosity is satisfied," she offered a lilting answer.

"Curiosity?" The Elf cocked one eyebrow, and Werna picked up a circle of some merry green vegetable with her fork.

"Aye." She gave the vegetable a feigned studying look. "Now you know that Dwarven women have no beard, but do indeed wear men's clothes." She popped the slice into her mouth and crunched it merrily, looking directly in the Elf's eyes.

There was an instant of silence, when Werna felt the King's and the Wizard's eyes on herself, and then the Elf emitted a low warm chuckle.

"Indeed, Lady Werna." Werna noticed from the corner of her eye that Tharkun discreetly exhaled in relief. "And their wit exceeds that of their men," Lord Elrod added, and Werna nodded, continuing to enjoy her food.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Ani,_ fantasy bildungsroman & _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	13. Guests and Hosts

The rest of the dinner went in a relative peace. Tharkun conversed with Lord Elrond, and the two swords the company had found in the troll cave were discussed. Werna saw how the King tensed when his blade - and no doubt he already felt possessive of it, just as she would in his place - was in the hands of their host, and they both listened to the Elf's description of the swords' origins. Werna was only grateful that the King had already bonded with the weapon in the altercation with the Orc pack. Otherwise, she could suddenly imagine it stuffed in a spittoon somewhere in Rivendell in disdain towards its creators. That was, of course, if Elves had spittoons.

There was one more moment of tension, when Lord Elrond asked the Wizard, "And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" The lifted eyebrow and an inquisitive look of the Elven Lord made Werna hold her breath, and then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a slight movement from the King Under the Mountain.

He was going to rise and excuse himself from the table! Werna acted on instinct. Her hand darted under the table, and her fingers wrapped around his. She continued looking ahead, as if listening to the Wizard's convoluted and nonsensical explanations, while she could feel the King's eyes on her. She just could not let him do it! It would be disrespectful towards their host, and more so, it would show the company that they could express their ungratefulness openly. The Dwarves were just waiting for a signal to start misbehaving! How could he not understand that they all looked at him for guidance?!

She then took a deep breath in and slowly removed her hand. Her understanding of his character predicted he would not mention it later. Still, she felt acutely embarrassed. She was in no position to adjust his behaviour.

She also now had a larger concern, which she tried to ignore for the time being. How was she to forget the feeling of his fingers in hers?

She grabbed her goblet and drank greedily, still avoiding looking at him.

"So, how are matters in the North, my lady?" Lord Elrond asked her, and she met his eyes. Why did she have a suspicion he was aiding her? She wondered how much he could sense her discomfort.

She answered decorously, mentioning the unrest on the shore of Rhun.

"Have you travelled a lot, my lady?" Lord Elrond asked with seemingly sincere curiosity.

"I have, my lord. I am the younger daughter, we are traditionally trained as warriors. I have accompanied merchants in their travels, mostly Dwarves, of course, but sometimes, Men as well."

"As a younger daughter?" the Elf asked for clarification, and she nodded.

"Aye, my lord. Children are of course given a chance to choose a vocation according to their volition, but the older are encouraged, if they wish to, to continue the family's trade. The younger can almost be considered… freer in their choices. I was offered weapons, books, and lyres in equal measure when I was a girl, but I always prefered swords and axes."

The Elf listened to her explanation attentively.

"You have older siblings then, I presume."

"A sister. Dania." Werna felt the King shift nearby, and she lifted her chin. "She is a true heir of our family. She is interested in books, and trade, and history. And music. She has the most beautiful voice..." Some sort of an unexpected vengeful bitterness pushed her to add, "Made for a duet with a male baritone."

She heard an almost inaudible sharp inhale from the King, and regretted her cruelty instantly. He indubitably remembered all those discussions of music and his harp he had led in his correspondence with Dania. Werna bit into her bottom lip, scolding herself internally.

"And you? Do you pursue music, Lady Werna?" She returned her attention to Lord Elrond.

"I do not. I am one of the few among my people who have no ear for music. I am good with the rhythm, but not the melody. My sister has always suggested I limit myself to dancing, which I am fond of." Werna threw the Elf a small smile. "If I am not wrong, her most common comparison of my singing was to the work of leaky bellows."

Werna's jest was met by chuckling from the Wizard and the Elf, and cold silence from the Dwarf, but she had not hoped for more from him, to be honest.

Werna could guess that the company at two lower tables were getting restless, and as if echoing her thoughts the King begrudgingly thanked their host for the meal, and suggested they went back to the chambers offered to them. He, of course, said nothing of them being overtaxed after the journey and the run-in with Orcs - no Dwarf would ever admit to their strength lessening - but Werna was happy he had implied it. She could just imagine how the company would lose their patience and start throwing food and dancing on the tables. They were benevolently excused by Lord Elrond, and rose.

* * *

After dinner Werna, the King, Lord Balin, the Halfling, and the Wizard had a meeting with Lord Elrond, who had disclosed to them the secrets of their map. The news were both joyous - they now knew more of the other entrance to Erebor, and how to find it - and alarming at the same time. Durin's Day was upon them, and they needed to haste.

On their way back from the cave where Lord Elrond had read the map, the King and Lord Balin were discussing how much time they could spare to spend in Rivendell. The company needed rest and to replenish their supplies, but long leisure would be an unwise luxury.

It was decided they would spend three days in the House of Elves. Werna did not participate in the conversation, feeling it was not her place to offer advice. The Halfling stayed silent as well. She noticed he kept on turning his head, observing their surroundings. Werna once again reminded herself to keep her distance from him.

The next day passed in repose. The company cooked food, finally to their liking, smoked, led trifle conversations, and tended to their weapons. The men seemed to be rather free and homely in Rivendell. Around midday Bofur had come up with an idea to use one of the fountains of the opulent halls of Lord Elrond as a public bath, and Werna just shook her head in disbelief. Since the King did not forbid it, soon the Dwarves stomped away, singing loud, hardly appropriate songs.

Werna who was still sitting on a bench in the large room they occupied, cleaning her blades, threw a look at King Thorin. He sat by the doors to the balcony, attached to the rooms they were given. Soft curls of fragrant smoke danced around his head. The day was warm, and he took off his waistcoat and other outer garments. The dark blue swan-necked doublet was dusty, and his beard needed trimming. Werna threw a look down herself - she looked no better.

"Why do you encourage them? Their behaviour is disrespectful." She did not know why she felt allowed - or willing, for that matter - to antagonise the leader of her company. He slowly turned and let the smoke out from between slightly parted lips. Only then Werna realised, they were alone in the chamber.

"Why do you take the side of Mibilkhags?" The degrading term for the Elves scratched at Werna's ear.

"I did not know we were choosing sides," she continued stubbornly, slowly moving the whetstone along the bit of her right axe, Bahazunsh. "I merely feel we should remember we are guests here."

"And they are our reluctant hosts. And neither of us enjoy this temporary cohabitation." The King's tone was pointed, and Werna lifted her eyes at him.

"The Elves of Rivendell had never brought any harm upon our people. I understand that..." Werna searched for most delicate words. "That some of us might feel mistrustful and apprehensive towards the Elves of Mirkwood, but Lord Elrond showed us only hospitality. Our races dislike each other, and I am not to be the first Dwarf to argue it, but there are rules of decour, after all..." Werna's voice was growing emotional, and the King frowned. She jerked her chin up, giving him a defiant glare. He was not intimidating her, though she indeed spoke out of terms.

There were only two of them in the room, and she felt confused. The small moment of warmth he had shown her before the dinner the previous night, the memories of his hand in hers, and the fact that he so far had not put her in her place, or left the chamber, but continued sitting, his pipe in his hand - all of it was meddling her mind. It felt as if they were separated from the world, as if in some sort of a bubble, like a globe of molten glass on the end of a blower's pipe, and she even thought the birds quieted outside the window.

He studied her face, and her cheeks started to burn. And then a noise came from the passage, and the Halfling stepped into the room. Werna whipped her head, and looked at him. He of course immediately realised that he stepped into a tense situation, and his nose twitched, and his eyes darted between Werna and the King.

Werna jumped at her feet and rushed out of the chamber, almost brushing her shoulder to the Hobbit's. Perhaps, she needed to politely ask one of their hosts if she could take a bath somewhere in peace. She needed to calm her mind.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

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Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Ani,_ fantasy bildungsroman & _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

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 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	14. Rocky Road to Dimrill

**A/N: I had a bit of fun with song lyrics :) I hope, you have a small laugh too :)**

 **Cheers,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Thorin felt like the last brainless _lulkh._ He had thought himself so clever before, so wise in his behaviour towards the woman, and look where it got him!

After the unfortunate mishap with the name of her sister, he had decided that the less he spoke to her, the better. But while they were waiting for the wizards to finish their conversation, and just before the first Warg jumped at the clearing, Thorin had had - as he thought then - a very reasonable realisation. She was after all just another member of his company. Surely, there was no need to treat her anyhow differently. Others did not. She was on friendly terms with Bofur and Nori, respected by Dori, led long conversations with Balin and Oin, Gloin liked her, Ori worshipped her. Fili and Kili looked up to her, just as they did with other distinguished warriors. Even the Halfling with all his limited understanding seemed to show no difference in his attitude towards her.

So, Thorin arrived at a conclusion that he was to treat her just as any other Dwarf. And he did. He observed her in a combat, and saw that she showed excellent skills. She fought with two battle axes, her double sliding hand blows were precise and graceful, and Thorin once again praised himself for appreciating her only as a fellow warrior. He offered her words of encouragement then, but her reaction confused him. Instead of accepting the praise, she stared at him, her slanted eyes widened.

With the arrival to the cursed Rivendell, the matters went from baffling to alarming. He asked her to join him at the dinner table. It seemed logical to him. He did not wish to share the table with the Elf and the Wizard alone, and her gender was a fitting excuse to invite her. For Elves, it would not be surprising. In their primitive ways, they thought a woman was to be separated from men, somehow singled out, and just as he expected a chair was added to their table for her.

And then she just had to go and behave inappropriately! First, she grabbed his hand at dinner! And on the following day she was telling him off! What was next? Would she demand him to submit to her the map and the key to Erebor?!

And now when she rushed out of the room, as much as toppling the unfortunate Halfling on the floor, Thorin felt his irritation was reaching its limit.

"Is everything alright?" the Hobbit asked, and Thorin turned away from him and continued smoking irkedly. He could hear the Halfling shuffle between his feet behind him, and then the Hobbit left. Thorin angrily puffed more smoke and grumbled under his breath.

* * *

By the evening the company had settled more comfortably. Meaning they started the fire, perhaps using the Elven furniture, and were now cooking sausages. Thorin had washed with them, in the fountain, as well as cleaned his clothes, and was now enjoying a pipe, half listening to Bofur's anecdotes. It was endlessly pleasant to feel that his hair was clean and rebraided. He hung his doublet and the waistcoat on the balcony railing, and dropped his head back on them, like a headroll. The stars shone above, and some uncharacteristically mawkish thoughts stirred in his mind.

"I have discovered some pickled onions, and some fresh bread in the Elven kitchen." Thorin whipped his head and looked at the woman. She stood by the entrance, a large basket in her hand. "They will go nicely with the sausages." She passed her loot to Fili and stepped closer to the fire.

The hair of coppered gold shone in the dancing light of the flame, freshly washed, and silken looking. She held her doublet in the other hand, only a soft tunic hugging her torso. Gone were the leather, fur collared waistcoat, and the brigandine. The light green of the garment, like a young Spring leaf, made her eyes seem brighter, and her lips redder.

The Dwarves cheered the food, and she smiled, and sat down between Bifur and Oin. She ate with appetite, laughing at Bofur's stories, bumping her shoulder to Nori's, and Thorin smoked, and smoked, trying to look at her as little as possible. He just could not summon what was affecting his mood.

And then singing started, and of course, quite quickly dancing as well. Pots, and kettles, spoons, and pans provided the rhythm and the tune, and clapping, and stomping joined in, and soon she was spinning, her arm looped through Gloin's.

 _While in the merry month of June, from my home I started,_

 _Left the girls of Rhun, nearly broken-hearted,_

 _Saluted Father dear, kissed my darlin' Mother,_

 _Drank a pint of beer, my grief and tears to smother,_

 _Then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born;_

 _I cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin,_

 _A brand-new pair of brogues to rattle over the bogs_

 _And frighten all the dogs, on the rocky road to Dimrill!_

 _One, two, three, four, five!_

She swirled, and soon all the company - except for Thorin himself, and Bombur who continued chewing, perched on a table of sorts - were dancing, and singing loudly, and she leaped from one Dwarf to another, looping her arm through yet another's, and laughing. Her eyes were squinted, and nose wrinkled, and white teeth gleamed in the warm glow of the fire.

 _Hunt the hare and turn her_

 _Down the rocky road, and all the ways to Dimrill!_

 _Whack-fol-lol-de-rah!_

If what she had said at dinner was true, she was right to follow her sister's advice. Dancing suit her. She moved gracefully, lightly, her limbs strong, her head set proudly, on beautiful round shoulders, and small hands flying. There was precision to her step, and smile shone in her features.

And then from the corner of his eye Thorin saw the Hobbit hesitantly approaching the fire, and she leaped, and grabbed his hands, and pulled him into the circle of the dancers. Bofur played his flute, Ori clapped and cheered, and she twirled and twirled, her eyes locked with the Hobbit's, both his hands still firmly clasped in his.

Suddenly Thorin realised that his teeth were clenched, and as much as gritting on the mouthpiece of his pipe. He was not used to scrutinising his emotions, but his mood had gone sour so sharply, that he could not help but ask himself what irked him so much. Just an instant ago he felt content, resting, surrounded by his kin, and his companions enjoying well deserved repose.

It was the Halfling, he decided. The Halfling dancing with the Dwarven maiden was what set Thorin's temper off. It was because the Hobbit did not belong, Thorin thought, because he had nothing to do on their quest! He was a burden, imposed on Thorin by the Wizard, and for no reason accepted by Lady Werna. Why was she so keen on including him?! Why smile to him? Why let him place his hand on her waist? She was a Dwarven lady of noble descent! She had no business dancing with a petty Hobbit!

The revel had finally subsided, and Thorin rose on his feet. He picked up his doublet, and left the camp, trying to hide the haste. He did not look back once, and still he knew that the cursed Halfling sat between her and Fili, and the three of them were sharing a pipeweed pouch.

* * *

He wandered the Elven dwelling for two hours, trying to walk off the foul mood, but no relief came. He blamed the ridiculous filigree railings, pompous stairs, overly decorated, unnecessary fountains. Thankfully, he had not met any of the pointy eared annoyances.

At some point he stopped on a balcony, and looked up at the starry sky again. He watched the twinkling lights, and felt even more restless. They needed to haste, Durin's Day was approaching.

"You can trust that I know what I am doing..." Thorin heard the Wizard's voice, and looked down, at a suspended path lying underneath. Tharkun was walking with the Elf.

"Do you? The dragon has slept for sixty years..." the Elven Lord droned on.

Thorin took a step back, hiding in the shadows. He thought eavesdropping below him, of course, but he wished to understand the Wizard's plans better. And as no surprise he now knew that it was the strengthening of their positions, there, at the far East, that concerned the Wizard. Thorin thought it fair. He wanted his mountain back, and if the Wizard was willing to assist him due to his own schemings, Thorin would not refuse.

And then their conversation turned to the Dragon sickness. Thorin clenched his jaw, and his hands fisted. They spoke of his Grandfather, as if of a commoner! As if of some drunkard of Men! They had no right to even mention his kin in such terms! Thank Mahal, there was no one near, to hear their disrespectful palaver.

Thorin turned and marched away. He thought of going back to the company, but decided that another stroll would be beneficial. His temper had risen, and it was best to be alone for a while.

He turned around a corner, and heard some soft noise in one of the shadowy passages. He had half a mind to find some detour - the last thing he wanted was to encounter one of the hosts - but then he realised that the sound was nothing other but quiet crying - a woman, or a child perhaps. Elf or not, someone was distraught there, and Thorin exhaled in irritation and moved forward.

It was no Elf. Werna, daughter of Lyr sat on a tall bench, her feet not reaching the ground. One small hand was fisted in front of her mouth, to muffle the sobs, and large tears ran her cheeks.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

{ _Ani,_ fantasy bildungsroman & _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels}

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	15. In the Shadow of Doubt

The King left, and Werna rose as well. She pretended to be busy with the clasps on her double while discreetly watching which path he chose, and then she picked up her pipe and walked at the opposite direction.

The purpose of her stroll was quite simple - she wanted to have a look around. During the day she stayed with her company, to preserve the decourum, and to show the Elves she was not to be in any way discrepated from her companions. And yet, the curiosity had the best of her, and she slowly walked passages and bridges and filigree stairs, twisting her head to see better. Stars shone in the sky, and she looked up, admiring them.

She found a tall balcony, placed her folded arms on the railing, and put her chin on them. The calming murmur of tall waterfalls filled her heart with some sort of light melancholy. She knew they were soon to depart, and she would not wish to stay longer, and yet somewhere deep in her heart she just could not find any disfavour towards the Elven dwelling.

* * *

It had been about two hours since she left, and it was certainly time to return. Werna sighed, and started finding her way back, when turning around a corner she ran into none other but the reason of her recent unease.

"Goodness me, I apologise!" the Hobbit exclaimed, and Werna hastily mumbled some reassurance, and tried to quickly walk around him.

"Lady Werna!" he called after her, and she grudgingly stopped. "Could I speak to you shortly?"

She had half a mind to refuse, but the rules of politeness pushed her to turn and give him a tight smile.

"What is it, Master Baggins?"

"Could we, please, sit?" He pointed at a bench by the wall, and Werna had no choice but to sit down. He joined her, and she saw him fidget with an acorn shaped button on his waistcoat.

"I have offended you in some way..." the Halfling muttered, and Werna whipped her head and gave him a surprised look. "You have… changed towards me. I do not know your customs, and have made some… error, I suppose… I do not know… Surely…" He continued mumbling, incoherently now, and the twisting of his button grew even more agitated. "I had an impression we were… you were… amicable towards me… And all I can do is apologise, but I do not..."

"Mahal help me!" Werna breathed out, and grabbed his hand. "Leave the poor button in peace, Master Baggins! You had no handkerchief, I doubt you have thread and needle with you on this journey."

"I do, in actuality," he answered slowly, his eyes wide open, and astonished, and his fingers jerked in her grasp.

And then she realised how close they were, and that she held his hand, and that she had leaned in when she had taken it, and then the Hobbit dove in and pressed his lips to hers.

His hand was on her cheek, and she felt his soft hair brush at her ear, which immediately burned. She gasped into the kiss, but it was so very sweet, and her lashes fluttered, and she arched, giving in to the softness of his caress. She felt his palm gently cradle her jaw, and she shifted closer. His lips were soft, his breath fresh, and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. She then found his hand on her waist, and he pulled her in. She had not expected the experience, and the sudden boldness! She had kissed a few men in her life, and how unexpected he was!

He broke the kiss first, moving away from her, blinking frantically, his nose doing its usual dance. Werna felt she required a moment to recover as well.

"Well… yes..." The Hobbit loudly cleared his throat and looked her in the eyes. Myriads of thoughts thrashed in Werna's mind, but one question was the most deafeningly blaring in her mind, and of course, in her usual unfortunate habit, she could not help but blurt it out.

"Do Hobbits court?"

He met her mishap by frowning his brow, and his nose scrunched aside with a soft sniffling sound.

"I beg you pardon?"

"We are of different customs." Werna continued to dig up a verbal grave for herself. She, of course, should have stopped, but her lips tingled, the memory of the buss still lingering on them, and his greyish greenish eyes were right in front of her. His hand was still in hers, and her gaze roamed his face. "For the Khazad, a kiss is usually the beginning of courtship. There are rules… Customs… Beads…" She knew she was saying it wrong, and she let go of his hand, because the warm fingers in hers were muddling her mind. "It is so very untimely, but… If it is what you wish for..."

"Is it what you wish for?" he asked, and she lowered her eyes.

"I… I am confused… I have not thought..." She berated herself internally. She could not understand why her usual eloquence was failing her.

They sat in silence, and she gathered her bearings and peeked at him. His face was dark, and clearly befuddled, but she caught her eyes stray to his lips. She could have deceived herself previously, but it was time to admit the truth. Given time and opportunity, she could have found herself infatuated with him. Her mind still struggled with this new side of him. The firmness of the character he had shown, and the surprising, loud virility confounded her! And she had thought herself alone in these inappropriate thoughts! And to think of it, she had not even given much thought to what he had felt towards her. She was just too preoccupied with how out of place her sudden sentiment was.

"It is… quite less formal… less formal for the Hobbits." He cleared his throat. She looked at him openly now, but he did not meet her eyes. "It just sort of… happens, and if parents, or guardians… agree… And as for the man and…" He coughed again. "The woman… It just… happens."

Werna could not suppress a small laugh.

"And it just did," she noted, hoping to alleviate the unease with a jest. He continued staring at the wall in front of them, without answering her.

Werna's hand lay on her lap, and she wondered whether he would take it. She saw his fingers twitch on the bench they sat on, he perhaps had a similar idea. He finally looked at her, still frowning, and she gave him an encouraging smile.

He studied her face, and she allowed him.

"And how long is the Dwarven courtship?" he asked.

"Six moons. If the bespoken wish to spend more time getting to know each other, it can be arranged. But if it is nothing but formality, then six moons. And then there is the betrothal, and… marriage."

Suddenly her head spun. This conversation seemed so very grave and frightening! And just after one kiss!

It would have been so different and so much easier with a Khuzd, she thought in agitation. There were beneficial conventions, things expected to be said, and to be done: the phrases to suggest courtship, and to obtain agreement, or refusal, and the gifts to be exchanged. She would not have found herself in this awkward situation were she associated with one of her race. And after all, she was not young anymore! She would have been treated with much more reverence. It was so odd to suddenly find herself in an alcove with a man, exchanging mindless busses, without even understanding what was transpiring!

"I did not know that was the way." The Hobbit pronounced, in a somber tone, and Werna, who had just been musing on how it happened that she was in this position, turned sharply and stared at him. "I sort of have not thought it through..."

Werna felt as if a dagger was buried under her ribs. She did not need to imagine it, there were memories from that incident on River Running ten years ago - and the similarity in the sensations of the sharp pain and air rushing out of her lungs was acute.

"You have not thought it through..." she slowly repeated, feeling blood rushing from her cheeks. "You are not the only one to… think it through." She felt her temper rise. "There are two people to be engaged in such actions, Master Baggins. You have not kissed an ignorant youngling. I have participated willingly!"

"Oh..." Some small noise escaped him, and he blinked several times. "So, you have thought… You have thought it to be a courtship… I thought you were being polite."

"Polite?" Werna's voice grew coarse. She just could not believe it! "You assumed I kissed you back out of... a sense of decorum?!"

A few more strangled noises fell off his lips, and Werna decided that was quite enough.

"Well, I believe that puts this incident to rest. I am glad it is resolved." She got up, and the Hobbit jumped on his feet. "Good evening, Master Baggins."

She rushed away, not hearing his mumbled response. She just needed to find the emptiest, least frequented passage.

* * *

It was all her fault, she thought, wiping her tears. What did she expect from a Hobbit? Feeble nerves, cold heart, no match to Khazad fervour, and passion, and fire - and all they cared for was… the sense of decorum! That was all that was to him. She sniffled and searched her sleeve for handkerchief. And then she remembered that it was now in the possession of the Hobbit, and tears rushed down her cheeks even more.

Humiliation ate at her heart, but even more disturbingly, she found the lack of regret in herself. She felt angry, rejected, offended… and yet, she just could not convince herself to scorn him.

"Werna?" A low, familiar voice came from above, and Werna jolted.

She slowly lifted her eyes, and saw sincere concern splash in the sapphire irises of the King-in-Exile. Mahal help her, what had she done to deserve this?

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	16. Lilac Threads

**Happy Valentine's, my duckies!**

 **I'm so enjoying this story that I'm posting a new chapter even today, when some people are having romantic dinner, or going to pictures. Well, I'll just eat my chocolate covered strawberries in front of the screen ;) And I DO have life outside FF, I swear :)**

* * *

Werna quickly wiped her tears, and cleared her throat.

"I apologise for this lack of composure, my lord." She sat straighter on the bench. "I should not have let my emotions run loose in an Elven dwelling. Hopefully, none of them saw me." She knew that as any of the Khazad he would hate the Elves to see a Dwarven warrior in a moment of weakness. She expected him to leave, but he suddenly nodded at the bench.

"Could I join you, my lady?" All she could do was to allow him with an astonished mumble.

He sat and threw a quick look at her face. She felt like her hiding her, no doubt, red and puffy eyes. Mahal help her, what if there was snot? She quickly pushed her hand in the sleeve, but once again remembered where her handkerchief was.

"I would not worry too much about our hosts' opinion on you," he spoke in a low voice, and Werna tensed. "You are a woman, you are allowed to show mawkishness and lack of restraint."

Cold grasped Werna's heart. She could not believe he thought so low of her!

"They would just choke it on it. Shows how much they know," he continued. "Barbarians..."

He stretched his hand to her, and first a mad thought came, that he was going to touch her, and wipe a tear that she still felt ran her cheek, but then she saw a handkerchief in his hand. It was white and clean, and she picked it up.

A delicate branch of lilacs embroidered in a corner, with the blossoms previously in gentle purple, and now faded from being carried around for years, caught her eye; and she recognised one of the few small gifts the King-in-Exile had received from his betrothed.

* * *

 _10 years ago, Vales of Anduin…_

"Are these lilacs I see embroidered on your scarf, my lady? Matching the fragrance of your hair, I gather."

The Man was tall, even for _Siginkann_. His hair was of the colour of good strong coffee, curling on its ends, and the eyes were dark brown as well, laughing, and framed with long fluffy lashes.

Werna threw a look at him, trying to delegate how inappropriate his familiarity was. Indeed, they were in the same guard, accompanying the merchants to Iron Hills, but he was of Men, and her and her Dwarven companions had kept their distance from the swords for hire from Men. She had three Dwarves under her command, and currently she was preoccupied with the thought that there was surely insufficient number of armed men on this journey. Their camp on a small clearing was vulnerable.

And then she realised what he had just said.

"You know I am a woman?!" she exclaimed in astonishment, and he laughed loudly, without restriction. The white teeth gleamed, and he sat on a fallen tree near where she stood on lookout. This way their eyes were level.

"I am not blind, and unlike our wards here not prejudiced either. And I know a beautiful woman when I see one." He gave her a wink. She should have felt appalled; he was impossible! And yet she snorted and then, not knowing why herself, she gave his shoulder a cordial shove.

"You are a sweet talk, kind sir. Pity your words fall on a deaf ear." He barked another merry laugh.

"There are still three moons of travel ahead of us, my lady. The ear might change its mind."

The low velvet voice made a small, pleasant shiver run down her spine. Werna blamed her sudden frivolity on the exhilaration she felt every time she found herself in the wilderness, travelling, or patrolling. That was where she felt most at ease, the happiest, the freest.

"Somehow I feel this is just your way of fighting the boredom, kind sir. You do realise how preposterous your flirtations are, do you not?" She shook her head in a feigned disbelief. "I am a Dwarven warrior. You are a renegaded ranger of Ithilien."

She saw his eyes widen, and pupils dilate. She should not have felt smug from this small victory, but she enjoyed his stupification.

"How did you know?"

"I am not blind, and unlike our wards I am rather observant," she turned his line back at him, and he kept on staring at her. She expected defensiveness, but then realised that the emotions splashing in his eyes was anything but animosity. He looked almost as if he were admiring her.

"So, you see, your compliments and coy looks are a rather ridiculous endeavour."

"They will not continue, if you find them unpleasant," he finally spoke, shaking off his bewilderment. His wide bright smile was back on his face. "I know my pursuit will lead nowhere, and yet I just cannot seem to find the strength to stop..." At the end of his phrase the voice dropped, smoky, and sweet like wild honey, and Werna laughed.

She stepped closer to him, and his coffee coloured eyes were right in front of her.

"Then don't, Amrod, son of Mablung," she spoke quietly, and his lips parted slightly. "But remember, it is nothing but entertainment for both of us." He smirked lopsidedly, and saluted her. She snorted. "And now you will take this lookout, and I will go enjoy my dinner while it is still warm."

"I will gladly give up my comforts for you, my lady," he called after her, she was already walking towards the camp.

Perhaps, it was rather childish, but she enjoyed it. Him not being of the Khazad felt… liberating. There was nothing in future for them, and it placed no responsibilities on her. And after all, a bit of flirtation did not harm anyone, did it?

* * *

 _Present day…_

Wren's wiped her eyes and nose.

"What upset you, my lady?" the King asked, and Werna threw an attentive look at his face.

Somehow, the sensation she was most aware of at the moment was acute relief. After being so cruelly mistaken and having misjudged the feelings of a man of a different race, it felt so very soothing to be faced with the emotions of a Khuzd.

She could see his mind as if it were her own. He clearly did not want to know about her grievances, but felt obliged to ask and offer aid. He looked slightly irked, a small wrinkle lay between his brows, and the tone of his question was dull. She suddenly chuckled. She did appreciate him try.

"I long for home, my lord. And I worry for my _amad_. Her health is failing, and she might not see the next Summer." The best lie was the one rooted in truth, Dania always said.

The King frowned more, and she saw his chest rise in a sharp inhale.

"Why did you come on the quest then? You might not return in time." She heard sincere concern in his tone, and she smiled to him with gratitude.

"We have said our goodbyes. She hardly recognises us anymore, to be honest. Her mind wanders. And I doubt you would have agreed to postpone the quest to wait for me," she added, cheekiness waking up in her again, and he gave her a side glance. She expected a reprimand, or more likely, a hasty escape, but instead, the corner of his lips curled, he gave her a lopsided smirk, and shook his head.

"I probably would not have." Werna could not tear her eyes off his suddenly softened features. "And I would have missed my chance for a capable companion."

That was the second complement in the course of several days, and Werna felt her jaw slack. Did he realise that he never praised anyone? He was severe and strict with his sister-sons, demanding as a leader, and she never heard him express any appreciation to any of the members of the company! And now he was giving her a confused look, as if not understanding why she was opening and closing her mouth like a carp instead of brushing his words aside with an absent-minded 'thank you, my lord.'

"Um… Thank you, my lord?" She sounded like a person with severe catarrh.

"You are welcome?" he sounded no less unsure, still staring at her bewildered face, the surprise reflected in his, and she fidgeted with the handkerchief.

When he jumped on his feet, breaking the strange tension between them, she was almost thankful. She was starting to lose grasp on what was happening. He gave her a small bow, and disappeared in passages.

* * *

Werna stayed, and gave a thorough consideration to the events of the evening. She decided that the King's behaviour should be accepted as it was, and remembered with warmth, and she should feel proud. He was finally starting to see her worth as a warrior. As for his unusual cordiality with her, she decided that perhaps - as much as he was trying to underline it was not the case - it was because of her gender. Perhaps, he felt freer to express his feelings with her because she was a woman. She could accept this grudgingly, as well. And perhaps - she allowed herself a small hope - he was starting to develop a minuscule of camaraderie towards her. She wished for it so very desperately!

As for the Hobbit… Werna sighed deeply. She should have known better! Now that the pain of rejection stepped back, she looked back at the past days soberly. If what he said of the Hobbit customs were true - and she did not doubt his honesty - for him the kiss was just a kiss, and her mentioning marriage - her cheeks burned from this memory - of course had scared him. She was used to men around her being fiery, quick, and firm in their decisions. When she asked for clarification, he, being a Hobbit, probably needed time to think. She did not give him any.

Also, Dwarves grew infatuated fast, their passions raged, and that was why courtship was taken so seriously. A man would think hard before propositioning, and more so kissing a woman. The Dwarves were brought up to accept the fire inside, give it proper consideration, seek advice, and only when they were certain in their sentiment, they would start courtship.

The Hobbit clearly had different attitudes. Werna sighed again, and decided it was only for the best that the difference in their minds became evident so early, before she formed true longing for him. The experience was humiliating, but all and all it could have ended much worse.

She just had to behave as if nothing happened, and be friendly and even towards him, just as she was towards everyone else in the company.

And with this conviction, Werna rose and headed back to the camp.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	17. Another Night

The next morning the company rose early, before the dawn, nothing left of the previous night's careless frolicking. Oin, Bofur, and Gloin were sent to the Elven kitchens to discuss provisions, and other supplies. The rest of the company were attending to their weapons and clobber.

Thorin was discussing the paths and passages with Balin who knew these lands best, when Werna reappeared in the chambers they had occupied. To think of it, he had not seen her since the moment everyone awoke, and she rushed out onto the balcony.

She walked to him hastily, and touched his sleeve.

"Could I have a word with you, my lord?" Her face was tense, and Thorin gave Balin a quick nod, and stepped into a secluded corner with her.

She moved close to him, her eyes emotional. She had a small piece of parchment in her hands, and she opened it, lifting it to his eyes.

 _Leave now. I will follow you shortly. G._

"An Elven child brought it to me," she whispered in an explanation, and Thorin met her eyes. He was once again struck by their unusual colour, both hazel, and green, streaks of grey and blue in them, like in the finest of fire opals. The eyes were trusting, red lips slightly parted; she was clearly relying on his leadership now. It felt surprisingly pleasant.

And then he shook off the unexpected mawkishness, and nodded curtly. It was time to leave the Elven dwelling.

* * *

In just two hours they were walking on a narrow ridge on the steep side of a mountain. Thorin sent Balin ahead, and stood watching his companions march, faces decisive, and determined. He then saw the Halfling, who previously had always followed the woman, slow down and throw a look back at the falls and buildings behind them.

"Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up."

The Hobbit sighed but stayed behind, allowing others pass him. Bofur carried a sack too heavy, it was clear he would have to be liberated of some of the wineskins, and treats he had hoarded. Ori hastened by, following his brothers. Then the woman walked by Thorin, and threw him a small smile. Her sincere, joyous expression was hard to resist, and he felt his lips twitch in return. Overall, Thorin felt the company was rested enough to continue the journey.

* * *

And then weeks and weeks of travel followed, and day by day, very slowly, somehow unnoticeably to him, he found himself paying more attention to her.

After so much time together, of course, everyone in such a small company would know each other's habits, and peculiarities. Those of them who were used to travelling long knew how patience was tried in such tight cohabitation. Bombur snored; Gloin grumbled, and always complained about food; Bofur was restless at night, took long time to settle to sleep, constantly trying to continue a conversation, and sometimes would talk in his sleep. Fili played with his knives, which irritated Oin; Kili hummed, without noticing. Bifur had nightmares; Ori would get distracted by drawing yet another landscape in his book. Balin's old wounds aggravated him on rainy days, and he picked up fights with his brother. Dwalin would get irritated by Nori's stories of former endeavours; Dori craved comfort and would get irked by other's manners.

The woman disliked cold, but tolerated it silently. She was good at starting fire, but was picky about her meat. She still refused to sing, even when the whole company sang together, but she was only happy to dance, and to pull them one by one into the circle of light around their campfire. She laughed at everyone's stories, even if they were not particularly funny. She talked Bofur to sleep, and sparred with his sister-sons.

And two weeks after they left Rivendell, he realised that everything she did seemed quite exceptional to him, and when she would start a fire, in a wet cave, or on a clearing on the edge of a bog, and a triumphant smile shone on her face, he would feel proud, as if it were him who showed himself skilled and adept.

With each day all he could see in her were merits, and somehow all her flaws were less and less noticeable. He used to dislike her chattiness, and now he craved to hear her voice. In the evenings, if the river was close, she would go wash, and previously he had thought it unnecessary, and reckless. Now, he would sit and smoke, listening against his will to noises from where she would disappear, and he would stubbornly try to chase away some vague, disturbing thoughts, but she would come back, carrying her coat in her hands, brigandine hugging her upper body, and her hair wet around her face, and on the nape, and he would feel so very agitated.

And with each day he compared and recalled less, his thoughts straying to her sister firstly rarely, and then almost never; and perhaps if asked he would not even manage to remember what it was he had been cherishing in the woman he only knew by her letters. And again, if asked what a good woman was like in his eyes, he would say she had to have lively manners, be considerate, good-natured, capable, fiery, and sportive.

And then one night he lay on his bedroll, and realised that he had not taken the portrait of his former betrothed out of the secret pocket on his tunic for at least seven days. Gone was the habit of looking at her features, remembering her words. And then he realised that the dull pain between his ribs - as if suffocating him when he would think of the day he tied the letter, where he was asking Dania, daughter of Lyr to release him of his obligations, to the raven's leg - was also absent.

Thorin lay and stared at the starry sky, not seeing it. So, he had just exchanged longing for one unattainable woman to another desire that could never be fulfilled. He found it almost laughable. He was after all two hundred years old, and an unrequited yearning and ridiculous fawning were quite behindhand.

And of all people, towards a woman whose sister he believed to have loved for a hundred and seventy years! And in the middle of a quest! And even if they reclaimed Erebor, and he became the King of Longbeards, worthy of a niece of Dain Ironfoot, how would it look if he tossed one sister aside, and started proclaiming his fervour for the younger one?

* * *

He tossed and turned on his bedroll, not arriving to any sort of peace of mind, and after a while he grumbled, and rose. The camp was asleep. He knew that the woman and Fili were on the lookout at this hour, so he wrapped tightly into his cloak and headed to where he assumed Fili would be. They would share some pipeweed and sit in silence, just as they previously had so many times in their travels together.

He knew it about himself. He just needed to follow the routine, to think of everyday matters, of the task at hand. That would chase useless thoughts away. And, it was after all no hunting trip. They were on the quest to reclaim Erebor! He would just need to sit, and smoke, and he would stop thinking of the woman, until the quest was over. Aye, that was a good decision: all mawkishness was to be forgotten till then.

Except he seemed to have chosen the wrong direction, and before he could ask himself whether that was his unconscious intention, he saw her.

She sat on a fallen tree, and turned sharply, although he knew he was moving very quietly. He saw her smile to him widely.

"Evening, my lord." The quiet and amiable voice came.

Thorin knew he had to pretend he was checking on the lookouts, grumble something only hardly approving, and haughty - he was no dimwit, he knew how he was perceived, and what behaviour was expected from him - and then he was to turn around and go back to camp.

Instead he sat near her on the tree, ignoring her surprised eyes, and pulled out his pipe. She shifted, he pretended to be busy with his pouch, and then she emitted a small sigh and went back to her smoking.

"Do you think they are still out there?" she asked a few minutes later. "The Orcs. It was clearly not an accidental happenstance that we ran into them near Rivendell. And Tharkun said we were being hunted…"

Her tone was calm, unemotional, and he peeked. She seemed thoughtful, and he saw her red lips wrapped around the mouth piece.

"I would not trust the Wizard's fortune-telling. He is known to predict storm when the sky is blue" Thorin answered in an irked tone. He did not feel irritated by her, though. If anything, he admired her strategic mind. He himself had been giving their possible pursuers a lot of thought.

She hummed noncommittally, and they returned to their pipeweed. They sat for a while, and then he rose and went back to the camp, without a word.

* * *

The night after, he could not quite settle to sleep, and was in foul mood the next day. The same happened the night after, and again the night that followed, and then again. And then he lay, this time cloud cloaking the stars from him, and he realised he wanted to go find her, and smoke in the companionable silence, and perhaps exchange a few words. He gritted his teeth and ordered himself to go to sleep. He did not, not right away, but lay and tried to think of anything but her.

He lost the battle two nights later. He jerkily rose, looking over the camp, berating himself for cowardice and venomously asking himself what he thought he looked like sneaking away from his own camp. Everyone seemed asleep, and Thorin walked in the opposite direction from where he thought she was. He then walked around the clearing they occupied, silently walking by Fili who did not notice him, and soon he could see her standing by a tall oak, her copper hair shining in the moonlight.

She was not alone. The Halfling stood in front of her, rocking on his heels. Thorin caught the end of the Hobbit's previous line.

"... reconsider our courtship. I have… have given it some thought… I was wrong last time. Whatever your customs are, I would like to follow them. I want to learn your ways, if you are willing to give me a chance."

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	18. The Answer

Thorin froze in his shrubbery. His upbringing and his pride were screaming for him to turn around and leave for the camp. And yet, he stayed, as much as holding his breath.

"Master Baggins..." The woman's voice was uncertain. "I am afraid I do not understand…"

"I propose… propose courtship to you, Lady Werna. I was taken quite by surprise when you mentioned it after our kiss..."

Thorin's body jolted. She had kissed the Halfling! Thorin had not expected to be affected thusly by this, but he found his hand on the hilt of his sword, and his teeth gritted painfully.

"But..." the Hobbit continued, his voice gaining firmness. "I have considered it, and I am willing to take any necessary steps, and perhaps..." He paused, and cleared his throat.

"To what end exactly?" the woman asked, and Thorin felt like mirroring her sentiment. What possible courtship this half of a man could have with a Dwarven maiden? A chipmunk would have more to offer!

"Well, I s'pose… The courtship is the time of… growing more accustomed to each other, and exploring these feelings…" There was some more mumbling, and Thorin clearly imagined stepping out of his hiding place and clobbering the Halfling to his head with a sheathed sword. Who did he think he was?! Lady Werna was a seasoned Dwarven warrior of noble ancestry! What was there to explore?! One was to be happy she even looked his way!

"Master Baggins, I had the impression that the said feelings were just a fleeting moment. You kissed me, I returned it; and you have explained to me it meant nothing to you..." The tone was bitter, and Thorin - beside mad jealousy that was raging in him, and which he pretended was not there - felt indignation rising.

"But it does! You do!" The Halfling moved closer to her, Thorin could see the silhouettes. "I was just… unprepared, and I am a Hobbit, and I had not thought then that you would return my feelings in any way."

"And yet you kissed me!" she exclaimed.

"To be honest, I was as surprised as you were," he mumbled, and while Thorin thought that deserved a nice punch in the stomach, the woman laughed suddenly. Thorin felt his jaw slack.

"You did look rather flabbergasted, I have to concede..." she snorted between soft chuckles. "But not as surprised as when I kissed you back."

Was she flirting?! There was mischief in her tone, and the Hobbit chortled back, his hands flying to his braces. He rocked on his heels.

"Oh Master Baggins, what am I to do with you?" she asked still laughing softly, and he stepped closer to her. Thorin stood his eyes glued to them.

"You could tell me what the courtship starts with… I only hope I would not have to forge anything..."

"Master Baggins, I have not agreed yet," she warned him, and the Hobbit stopped in his tracks. She turned away from the him, probably gathering her thoughts. Thorin saw a long dagger gleam in her hands. She had the habit of twirling it in her fingers when lost in her thoughts. Thorin only noticed because she once had a discussion with Fili about the blade.

"And I decline," she spoke quietly, her back still to the Halfling. "I am sorry, but I do..."

"Oh..." The Halfling made a little squeaky noise.

"I am sorry," she repeated. "I have given it a thought as well, as you can imagine. And I do not think it wise…"

"Is there another?" the Hobbit asked, and she sharply turned to him.

"Do you think that the only possible reason for me to refuse you? Am I a pony to always be in need of an owner?!"

"No, of course not!" the Hobbit cried out, and she shushed him. They were, indeed, in the woods in the middle of the night, with an Orc pack possibly on their trail. "Of course, no… Forgive me, I should not have..."

She puffed air in irritation, and sat down on the ground, leaning her back to a tree.

"Lady Werna, I apologise for my previous question. I think I just… wanted to know if I have hope… Perhaps, after the quest… If the reason for your refusal were its poor timing… But if it is I, me... myself… being the reason…" the Hobbit tangled in his words, "Then of course, of course..." He trailed away again, in his usual manner, and she seemed to look at him attentively.

"Master Baggins… You are a Hobbit. I, on the other hand, am a Dwarf… And how would we live were this courtship to happen, and take its course?" She sounded distressed, and the Halfling stepped to her, and sat on the ground near her.

"We would have to leave both our homes behind, I believe," the Hobbit spoke in a low, calm voice. "I can hardly imagine myself being accepted in Iron Hills. And you would be bored in Hobbiton. But I would be… only happy to find the way… just for the two of us..."

They sat close, and their eyes met, and Thorin took a step back. Suddenly, he realised how wrong his behaviour was, and how he had no right to impose, and something akin to respect to the two people a few feet away woke up in him, and acidic shame spilled in his heart.

"You would do this for me?" she asked.

"Of course," the Hobbit answered, as if stating the most obvious of things, and she placed her head on his shoulder.

Thorin turned around, and closed his eyes.

"If only you were a hundred seventy years earlier..." she spoke, her voice shaking, and Thorin whipped his head.

They sat in silence, while Thorin's mind whirred.

"I was not born then yet…" the Hobbit chuckled, his humour so seemingly out of place. She made a soft noise, more of a sigh, or even a half audible sob, than a snicker.

"So..." Thorin saw the Hobbit pick up her hand, and she shifted, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. "That is it then, Lady Werna?"

"I do not want to give you hope, while my heart is not free," she spoke. "If not for it, I would accept you with joy. Any other reason would have only been a welcome challenge for me, but I cannot lie to you..." Her voice was growing quieter, and then she whispered something into the Hobbit's ear, something Thorin could not hear.

Thorin quickly moved back towards the camp, silently walking between trees. He slid onto his bedroll, and pulled his cloak over himself. His heart was beating frantically, and he lay listening - and not deceiving himself regarding the reason - expecting the Hobbit's return. The Halfling was back shortly, and sat by the fire, smoking his pipe, and looking at the sky. Thorin closed his eyes, ordering himself to sleep. But her words buzzed and buzzed in his mind. _If only you were a hundred seventy years earlier…_

* * *

The next morning their travels continued, and Thorin watched the woman and the Hobbit behave as if nothing had happened. They were amicable towards each other, just as they had been before it. Nether seemed affected, melancholic, or agitated. Thorin decided that the incident could be considered resolved, and he would still feel a pang of shame for his eavesdropping from time to time, but would hastily push it out of his mind.

Each day the paths they were taking were getting steeper and steeper, and the weather was growing stormier.

They started spending nights in caves, and Thorin was feeling increasingly apprehensive to start fire at night. The Misty Mountains were infested with goblins, and Mahal knew, what other creatures were lurking around. They doubled the guard, and one night he happened to stay on lookout with the woman.

He sat and smoked, at the mouth of the cave, rain sheets shielding the landscape around from him. She came up and sat near him. He kept looking straight, ignoring the rustle of her movements. She sighed and started rummaging in her clothes looking for the fire striker, and Thorin stretched his hand to her, offering his, still not looking at her. She made a soft snort like sound, and took it.

A few minutes later he finally dared a look.

She was so very beautiful! There was so much life, warmth, and spirit to her features. The hair was wet from the rain, and he saw red lips closing around the mouthpiece of the pipe. Her trained eyes were moving on the grey view in front of them.

And then he remembered that very face, on a portrait, in a small silver case, hidden in the layers of his clobber. This very face, but with a small poised smile, regal braids around it - and he turned away from her. Whatever had happened between him and her sister, no matter the end of their betrothal, he still felt that he had promised himself to Dania, and if not her, no other woman was to be courted by him. And surely, not her sister! And not on the quest!

The last thought was most comforting! They were on the quest, by Durin's beard! Since when was it the time for mawkishness, whispering in shrubbery, and exchanges heated glances?!

She was right to refuse the Hobbit! He knew nothing of the world, of how one was to behave in such circumstances, and thank Mahal, she had sense enough to stop these ridiculous dalliances!

Thorin jumped on his feet as soon as it was time to change the guard, and rushed inside by her. He then settled on his bedroll, and closed his eyes.

 _If only you were a hundred seventy years earlier…_ The memory of her voice was drumming in his mind, and no amount of willful efforts allowed him to stop trying to guess whom she had meant. Then, in the Mountain, long time ago, when they were young and careless, just before the Dragon…

Thorin shifted on the ground again and again, and told himself he had not right to even wonder, and then he still did.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	19. Bilbo Leaves

Bilbo was feeling astonishingly pained. One would think a sound, respectable Hobbit such as himself - though, one would start doubting such assessment of his character when remembering his present location and pastime - would consider the completion of this agitating matter regarding a certain Dwarven maiden a good chance, and yet he would compare his current state with being hungry and thirsty and in ache at the same time.

Bilbo had always, to be honest, looked at himself as a decisive bachelor, and never had he expected to find himself tortured by heartache. And yet, there he was, having trouble eating, hardly enjoying his pipeweed, and most of all doubting his own choices, which was as uncharacteristic to him, as excessive generosity would be to the Bracegirdles. Not that long ago, Bilbo had imagined growing old, alone, in the peace and comfort of his Hobbithole, and later in life bequeathing it to some young orphaned relative, or other. And here he was, sitting on wet floor of a cold cave - on a quest to a Dwarven Mountain most likely inhabited by a fire breathing dragon, no less - and even more preposterously, trying not to, and failing, throw longing looks at a Dwarf.

The day before he had shown himself in even worse light that he had ever before. They had encountered the Stone Giants! The weather was horrid, the rain was washing them off the steep side of the mountains, and they found themselves on the leg of one of the giants! A shudder ran through his body again now, when he thought back on the earth itself moving under their feet, and then the company being broken in half, with him, and Bofur, and Kili, and Fili, and Bombur, and he could not quite see the others in all this fracas - ending up on the leg of a giant, and everything swayed and moved, and he heard screams. The Dwarven King screamed for his nephews, and Werna cried 'Bilbo!'

And then he slid down! It was slippery, but of course out of all company he ended up being the one dangling off the cliff like a herring hung to dry, and she lunged down, onto her stomach, trying to grab his hand. He could see her giant eyes, and she was calling to him, when Thorin jumped down, hung near him, and pushed Bilbo up, as much as throwing him over the edge. Bilbo felt red burning his cheeks at the moment, from the memories of being manhandled like a kitten - and in front of her! And then the preposterous, self-righteous Dwarf just had to slip down, after heroically risking his life for Bilbo, and she grabbed the King's hand, with both hers, and screaming 'Thorin!' this time - and Bilbo did not want to compare, but he had thought she sounded much more distraught than when Bilbo was the one in mortal danger.

After she and Dwalin pulled him out, Thorin had quite a lot to say about Bilbo - about him being 'lost' and 'having no place among them' - and to be honest, the Hobbit did not feel like arguing.

And now, in the cold wet cave Bilbo realised that there was only one thing to do here. He carefully picked up his belongings, threw the last look at her copper head, hardly visible under the cloak she was cozily wrapped in, and stepping over the forms of sleeping Dwarves, he slipped towards the entrance to the cave.

* * *

"Where do you think you are going?"

Bofur - out of all the Dwarves - just had to see him! The conversation was awkward, and Bilbo knew he would scold himself many times after for the careless words that he had let escape. He felt truly remorseful immediately after. _You are Dwarves, you are used to not belonging anywhere._ Worse so, Bofur agreed with him, and Bilbo wanted to apologise and reassure him - among other things, this particular Dwarf had shown nothing but support and kindness to Bilbo - but the damage had been done already. He saw Bofur's face grow glum.

And yet, he stepped forward, clapped Bilbo's shoulder, and wished him luck. No matter what they said, the Dwarves were indeed decent folk.

"Bilbo?" Her soft voice came, and his heart dropped. He had been hoping he would not have to say goodbye to her! Even seeing her made him ache hundred times more.

He turned and saw her stand, her cloak still wrapped around her shoulder. She rubbed one eye with a fisted hand, and his breathing hitched, from longing, and the piercing thought that that was how she would remember him, cowardly running, while he would always carry this image in his heart - her soft curls scattered on the shoulders, and the charming childish gesture.

"What is going on?"

"Bilbo is leaving back to Rivendell," Bofur answered mournfully, and Bilbo threw him a dark look. Surely, he should have said it himself.

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"I… um… Well, Thorin said..." Bilbo started his stumbled explanation - passionately craving Bofur to leave, now that the conversation with her could not be avoided - when suddenly Bofur interrupted him.

"What is that?" He pointed at Bilbo's belt, where the sword - or the letter opener, if you asked Balin - was now glowing in the scabbard.

The last thing Bilbo saw before they fell was Werna's hands fly behind her shoulder in a familiar gesture. Axes were not there.

* * *

Bilbo did not know how he escaped. He also did not know how - and with what strength - he managed to pull Werna aside, while others were shoved and pushed and bashed and abused.

And then a goblin jumped at them, and she cut it under its feet, and Bilbo saw the wide dwarven dagger in her hand, and then the beast jumped at him, and the two of them were falling, and at the very last moment the monster grabbed her leg around the ankle…

Bilbo opened his eyes, and the first thing he became aware of was a giant slimy mushroom right in front of his nose. The goblin lay a few feet away, seemingly having lost consciousness, and Bilbo was ready to jump up to search for Werna, when something moved in the shadows.

The creature was skinny, and dirty, and its glee at the view of the spread goblin was blood chilling. Bilbo stilled, and watched in terror how the new arrived monster bashed the head of the goblin with a rock.

"Nasty goblinses," the creature hissed, and disappeared between rocks dragging its loot away.

Bilbo crawled out of the mushrooms.

"Werna?" he whispered, and stood listening for a few seconds. No sound came, and he stepped ahead, searching for his sword. It glowed in the dark, and lay in his hand as a surprisingly comforting weight.

"Bilbo?"

He twirled on his feet, and saw the corner of her coat peeking from around a rock.

He rushed ahead - almost without noticing how he picked up the ring that fell out of the rag that served as the only clothing to the big eyed, frog like monster - and when he turned around the corner, he froze staring at her in dread.

There was a lot of blood. That was the first thing he noticed. And then he saw her right arm twisted under an unnatural angle. And the red staining her lips.

He dropped on his knees near her, his hands flew up, and froze above her body, but he did not dare touch.

"Werna..."

She blinked a few times, her eyes fogged, and then she coughed, more bloody foam appearing on her lips.

"Where are we? What was… the noise?"

"Do not speak," he whispered, and then he exhaled sharply, gathering his will, and carefully opened her coat.

The blood was running out of a large wound on her hip, and Bilbo pressed his hands over it without thinking.

"The ribs..." she whispered. "I broke several ribs, and there is blood in my lungs. The leg, the arm… and I hit my head, so my mind will muddle soon..."

He looked into her face mortified. How could she be so calm about it?! She was naming the injuries like jam jars while locking them in a pantry.

"Bilbo, you need to go..." There was a hiss to her breathing, and Bilbo's hands started shaking. He could see she was quickly pondering their options. "You need to find others… You need to help them..."

"No, I am not leaving you here… We need to tend to your wound, and… There is blood, and you are pale..." She looked at him, clearly trying to stay focused. His eyes roamed her wonderful freckled face.

"I am not coming out of these caves, Bilbo." He felt nausea rise from her decisive, unemotional tone. "You cannot carry me, I cannot walk. Your best chance..." She coughed again. "Your best chance is to find others, and escape together."

"No!" he raised his voice, and she weakly shushed him.

"And do not come back for me. I will be dead by then."

"Werna?!" What sort of madness was that?!

"Goblins will be here soon. We made noise when we fell, and they can smell blood. And there is a lot of it, so..." She could not finish the phrase, and pressed her hand over her mouth, muffling another bout of heaving.

"I will… carry you." Bilbo pursed his lips, shook his head, and gave her a - hopefully - adamant look. "I will drag you if I need to, but I. Am. Not. Leaving. You. Here."

"Then they will kill us both, daft Hobbit," she hissed at him, and his nose twitched.

"Then be it."

"What is it, precious?" Shivers ran down Bilbo's spine from the raspy hissing voice behind him. "What is it?" Bilbo did not turn, but he could feel those round glowing eyes on the back of his head. "Bless us, it smells so sweet. So juicy… We likes it, precious. We will feast."

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	20. Bilbo's Half

"What is it, precious? There is two of it. Small it is, but juicy… And we smells blood, sweet blood… Clean, precious, not the nasty goblinses… Warm..."

Bilbo quickly looked Werna over. She was growing rapidly paler, and he saw her eyes were fogged. He had seen the creature hit the goblin with a rock, and drag it away. It was clearly strong, and fast, and he had an almost unconscious Dwarf on his hands.

"We will eats it, precious..."

"No! She is mine!" Bilbo could not even say what pushed him to yelp it, only he felt he would rather die than let the creature touch even one copper hair on her head.

"What is it?" The boggled eyed monster was already very close, still in shadows, only two luminescent eyes clearly visible.

"Bilbo..." she breathed out, and he softly shushed her. His mind whirled.

"Yes, yes, she is… mine! My supper!" Bilbo turned to the creature and saw in freeze a few feet away as if pondering his words. Bilbo gulped, but when he spoke, his tone was firm. "Yes, she is my supper. But… but I am willing to share. Yes, I will share her with you, if you tell me how to find the way out of here."

"Is it lost, precious?" The monster tilted its head studying Bilbo.

"Yes, and I want to get unlost as soon as possible."

"We knows, we knows the safe paths in the dark," it announced with sudden glee, and then the ugly face cringed, and it hissed through its rotten teeth, "Shut up!"

"I did not say anything..." Bilbo gave it a confused look.

"I was not talking to you," the creature bit back, and then leaned behind the rock, mumbling something. It sounded as if it were arguing with itself. Perhaps, it was.

"Bilbo… You need to leave..." Werna's voice was already very weak, and he leaned in to her face.

"I will get us out of here, do not worry..."

"Bilbo..." Her eyes were very close, and he jerked when her fingers suddenly brushed to his cheek. It felt strange, and then he realised there was blood on her fingers. "Please, I need you to go… I need to know you are safe... Please, Bilbo..."

"It is alright, it is alright… I will save us... You will be safe... i will do it, for us..." He continued whispering comforting nonsense, when the creature popped up from around the rock again.

It was coming closer, still muttering, and Bilbo guessed it decided to try it luck in overpowering him as opposed to striking a deal. Bilbo was afraid he had little time.

"It has got an Elvish blade, but it is not an Elfs… What is it, precious?!"

"My name is Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo kept one hand pressed over Werna's hip, and lifted the other one with his sword up. The creature hissed and made some strange noises that sounded like 'gollum.' "I am offering the last time. Either take a half, or I will eat her myself." He was feeling quite desperate. The creature paused and gave it a thought.

"It is still breathing, precious. We finishes it with a rock!" Bilbo watched monster to pick up a rather large boulder and stretch its hands to him in invitation.

"No!" Bilbo's voice broke, and he frantically searched his mind. "I like them fresh. Let the blood run till the end. C'mon, where do you live? We will eat in comfort, and then you will show me the passage out, right?"

"It lies to us, precious," the monster whispered, but Bilbo realised it did not know it was talking out loud. It was indeed leading a conversation with itself. "It wants the morsel to itself." It made couple more of its 'gollum' noises. "Maybe not, precious. Maybe it trusts us. We will eats it too, of course, will we not, precious?" it asked, and then gleefully nodded. "Of course we will. But we will take it to the other side of the lake first, precious. Goblinses are near, they hears us, precious. Smells the blood."

It then turned to Bilbo and plastered a smile on its face. It looked scarier than its previous predatory, hungry expression.

"We has a boat. We will bring it, and we will take the morsel to where it is safe. Safe to eat, nice cave, dark..." The creature was nodding and as if cajoling. Bilbo decided to play along.

"Good, good… Boat is good. We will move… our supper… You go, get the boat…"

It nodded again, and left silently. Bilbo turned to Werna. Her eyes were closed, and he whispered, "Werna! Werna!"

She moaned quietly, and he started searching for something to bind her leg.

"It will be alright, I will take care… I will do everything..." he kept on mumbling, trying to reassure himself more than her, of course. She was after all unconscious. He then jerked off his cravat and tied it around her leg above the wound. She made a small pained noise.

"It will be alright, Werna..."

"Thorin..." she breathed out, and Bilbo's hands froze. He looked into her face. The brows were frowned, and her now white lips moved. "Thorin, I am so sorry..."

She then stirred weakly, and he realised she was trying to take something hidden under her waistcoat. Bilbo felt suddenly scared that she would hurt herself, remembering that she had said about broken ribs, and tried to catch her hand.

"Werna, no, do not touch..."

"I am sorry..." she moaned again, and then her fingers jerked the clasps on her waistcoat.

They were letters. Carefully folded, and tied with a purple silken ribbon, one corner now soaked in her blood. The wax stamps on them were broken, but in the light of his Elvish blade glowing dimly, Bilbo recognised the seal he had seen on the bottom of his own contract - 'Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.' The runes were unfamiliar, Bilbo after all did not speak Dwarvish, but he could see that the letters were of two distinct kinds - clearly, to and from the Dwarven King.

"I am sorry..." she continued to whisper feverishly. "I wanted to tell you… She promised me you would forgive me..." She thrashed, and a small whimper fell off her lips. Bilbo tried to carefully press on her shoulders to stop her from moving. All he felt was worry for her, her words had hardly reached his understanding. She seemed more and more agitated, and the letters fell out of her shaking hand on the wet floor of the cave.

Bilbo heard the flopping of the creature's feet behind him, and he quickly stuffed the letters under his waistcoat, still holding her down with another hand.

"Is it ready, precious? Is it still breathing?"

Bilbo sharply inhaled and exhaled, and turned to it with a fake friendly smile on his face.

"Yes, yes, she is still… fresh. I will move her to the boat, and we will push her there. Are you sure there are no goblins there?"

"No, no, safe cave, nice cave. Little island, just for us, precious. And the exit from the cave is there too. But we does not go there, no, precious, no! Nasty light, nasty sun… Gollum, gollum! Tell him nothing, precious!" the other - meaner - part of the creature hissed, and Bilbo pretended to be busy with Werna's coat, as if he had not just rejoiced from the news of an exit.

He could not carry her far, but he realised he had no choice. Dragging her across sharp rocks, especially with blood in her lungs was out of the question. She was of his height, and quite curvaceous. But he also could not let the creature approach her. He sat her up - she responded with a twitch, but there were no more moans - and he carefully pulled off the coat and untied the side clasps of a heavy brigandine. She was left in a thin tunic, and gritting his teeth, he rose on his feet, lifting her up. He sways, under her weight, but reminded himself of how valuable his cargo was.

Her head lay on his shoulder, and his heart clenched from the view of the blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

"This way… This way, precious. Put her in the boat, we will push the morsel, to the island..."

"No! You show the way, I will follow," Bilbo firmly answered, and put the Dwarf into a flimsy looking boat. The water - freezing, numbing, black and terrifying - was up to his waist by then, and he started shaking. She lay on the bottom, limp, and pale, and he pushed the boat, holding to it tightly. He only hoped it was not far, he could not swim. But the view of her helpless body and the hunger glowing in the creature's eyes were quite good teachers. Choking, gasping, his mouth full of disgusting stale water, he paddled after the boat, one hand clasped on its board, while the monster pulled it by the nose, and in this most unfortunate manner they reached the other side of the underground lake.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	21. In the Dark Waters

**A/N: Have you visited my writer's Facebook page facebook dot com katyakolmakov? I recently doodled Werna, and I post news and updates there :) Also, if you go to my Simple Writer's blog (kolmakov dot ca) you can find links to my other media, and now subscribe to the newsletter of my fantasy world Rodhina that will launch April, 1, 2016!**

 **Best,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

The nose of the boat scraped at stone, and Bilbo scrambled onto the shore, coughing painfully, his body quaking. His joints ached from the coldness of the water, his fingers were unmoving, after digging into the board for so long. He had swallowed plenty of the dark, dead water, and the stale, purgid taste coated his palate.

"Alright, alright..." he mumbled, and then jerked and rose, swaying, quickly leaning into the boat to see how Werna was. She lay on the bottom, pale, and listless, and his heart clenched. He was struck by the difference between the woman who laughed at Bofur's stories, crinkling her nose, a few bright curls jumping near her face, and the white ghost, no life or light left in it.

"Werna..." he breathed out, but then hurriedly looked around.

The creature was nowhere to be seen. Bilbo drew the sword out of its scabbard, noting the blue burning in it.

"It thinks it will lie to us." Bilbo heard the whisper echo around, bouncing off the walls and roof of the cave, hiding the creature's location from him. "We eats it too now. Right after the dead one… Gollum, gollum!"

 _Dead?!_ Terror slashed across Bilbo's heart, and he quickly bent down, and pressed his fingers to Werna's throat. The pulse was there, hardly noticeable, but still present.

"Where are you?" he called after the creature. "We had a deal. We have supper now, and then you show me the path out. The safe one… C'mon, do you not want to eat in company? It must be lonely here."

"We is lonely..." it answered, as Bilbo had learnt to distinguish by now, its nice half speaking, and then hissed, "Shut up!" More muttering followed, and then, "But we is, precious! We has no one to talk to, just fishes, and batses..."

"Well, is it not better to share a meal then?" Bilbo was not sure what he would do when it came back, but it surely felt safer to see it than let it lurk in the dark.

A terrifying thought came. He could kill it. He had a boat now, Werna could be moved in it, to the other side of the island. The creature had let it slip that there was an exit there, and even mentioned the sunlight.

And he had so little time! He needed to find others. He was no help for her, he knew not wounds and treatments. Gandalf! He needed to find Gandalf!

The monster stepped from out of the shadows, its eyes glued to Bilbo, who instinctively raised the sword in front of him.

"What is it, precious? It shines, precious. Nasty, nasty..." It coughed, pausing a few feet away.

Bilbo was frozen as well, and then a soft noise came from behind him, and he heard Werna's hardly audible voice.

"Bilbo..."

And that was when the creature lunged ahead, its hands splayed, stretched towards Bilbo's throat.

He did not know how he moved, but nonetheless the blade slashed, and the creature screamed shriekily. It swirled on one spot, and Bilbo toppled backwards, clumsily, the sword almost falling out of his hands.

"It burns us! Nasty, nasty! We hurts, precious!" it lamented loudly, and rolled aside. A cut - not too deep - was on its upper arm, and it whined, and pressed another hand over it.

"We eats it now, we do, precious… It will not see us, we strangle it, and then eats the other one. Soft, juicy..." it muttered, and Bilbo saw its hand rise to the rag around its hips. It could hardly hide any weapon there, Bilbo thought, and he watched it in confusion.

Whatever it looked for was not there. The creature emitted a loud, pained wail, and started running around, hollering, and hitting itself to the head. It was utterly mad, and Bilbo carefully stepped back, pondering whether it would even notice if he tried to escape with the boat, when it sharply turned to him.

"Does it have it, precious?! Did it stole it?! Does it have it, Baggins?!"

"I did not steal anything!" Bilbo cried out, swaying the blade in front of him.

"Thief! Thief! Our precious!"

It lunged ahead again, this time in rage, and Bilbo awkwardly tried to shield himself with the blade. The monster pushed it away, as if not noticing that it cut its hand, and it grabbed Bilbo's jacket by the lapel. Its face was near, the smell of rotten fish hit Bilbo's nose, and he yelped, and stepped back. His foot slipped on a slimy rock, and down and back he went, the creature falling with him.

"Precious..." it wheezed, and Bilbo jerked and hit its temple with the plommet of the sword.

It fell down in an ugly heap of limbs, and stilled.

It took Bilbo a few seconds to gather his bearings and push the limp body off him. He then rolled on his knees and hands, and a few painful heaves wracked through his body. Bitter acidic taste filled his mouth, and he spat. And then he saw how bright the gleamer was coming from his sword, and he pushed himself to rise. His head spun, and he felt sick rise. He looked down at the spread creature, and sudden pity stirred in him. It lay on the ground, its long arms floppy and skinny, and somehow it reminded him of a drown kitten he once had seen as a child. Him and his friends had buried the poor animal under a tall oak on the edge of the grove near the river, and said sad little words over the little hill of ground. Bilbo almost stepped forward to see if the creature breathed, or he indeed had taken a life, but then he remembered of the warning light on his blade, and of the woman dying in the small boat, and he made a few shaky steps towards her.

* * *

Plodding in the shallow water around the island, pulling the boat after himself, he kept on thinking of the poor monster. Wherever it could have come from? And was it indeed dead? Had Bilbo just become a murderer?

And then he felt the air around him move, and his sensitive nose seemed to have caught a whiff of fresh air, and he gathered lungfuls, and pushed the boat, and slipped into water.

The boat in front of him, he paddles awkwardly, swallowing more of the water than he should, feeling his limbs growing heavier, and his lungs hurt as if he were running in the Winter without his scarf, and suddenly he realised he had strength left for just a few more instants, and then he would sink like a rock… And the woman he loved - and the thought was so definite and the situation was so grim that he had no time to be surprised by the certainty - would die in a small dirty boat, lying among bones of fish and bat and goblin… And Bilbo paddled faster, and then his foot painfully met rocky bottom.

He was once again dragging himself out of water, and onto the shore, sharp rocks slicing his soles and ankles, and then behind him he heard a terrifying howl.

"Baggins! Thief!"

Relief filled Bilbo's heart. The creature lived! He had not killed it! And immediately the gravity of the situation dawned on Bilbo, and he rushed to the boat, not quite sure what to do. He was a sound Hobbit, and he knew most certainly he had not enough strength to carry Werna.

"Bilbo!"

Never in his life had Bilbo been happier to hear his own name. He twirled on his heels, and saw Gandalf run to him, light dimly glowing on the end of his staff. And behind him ran the Dwarves, with Thorin at the front.

"Werna!" the King roared. "Where is she?!"

"She is here! In the boat!" Bilbo cried back. "And there is something there, some creature, and it tried to..."

He did not finish his explanation. Thorin pushed him away, and leaned into the boat. The Elven blade fell out of his hands, with a loud clank, onto the stone floor, and he picked Werna up, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.

"Her ribs are broken, she has blood..." Bilbo exclaimed, taking an instinctive step forward, and he saw Thorin's face grow terrified.

"Is she breathing?" someone asked nearby.

"We need to go! I saw the light there!" Gandalf interrupted, and the Dwarves moved. Bilbo was still watching the King and the woman in his arms.

"Take my sword!" Thorin barked, and started quickly walking away, and everyone followed, and Bilbo felt confused, and it was painful to breathe, and someone supported him, and suddenly the Sun blinded him. They were briskly stomping down a hill, and it smelt of pines, and he could feel dry grass under his feet, but all he could see was her hand limply hanging down, swaying from the King's fast striding.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

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 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

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 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	22. Into the Fire

**Author's Note : Have you checked my writer's Facebook page facebook dot com slash katyakolmakov? Updates, news, and COMING SOON my fantasy site Rodhina! **

**Links to my other media are available on my blog: kolmakov dot c** **a.**

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* * *

Dwalin ran after Thorin, the Elven blade clasped in his hand. They were finally outside. Mahal help them, luck was on their side. Not only they had escaped the first time, after the Wizard finished the Goblin King, but they managed to come back for the woman. By the entrance, sunlight seen in the opening, Thorin had turned around, and barked them to go back into the caves, led by someone loudly howling 'Baggins!' Thorin had been right to assume she would be nearby as well. Coming back for another warrior would have been unwise. Thorin coming back for her was not surprising at all.

Her state was not something either of them was prepared for. She looked like a ragdoll. Armour was gone, and blood was smeared on her chin, having trickled out of her mouth.

Thorin gently lowered her on the ground, and Dwalin saw his eyes roam her.

"Let me pass," the Wizard boomed, squeezing between other company members, stepping closer to her. He knelt in front of her.

"She said… the ribs… I tried to carry her… She was just too heavy…" the Halfling mumbled nearby, and then he folded in two and the content of his stomach spilled on the ground. Since only Mahal could remember when they ate last, it was just spit and bitter juices, and the poor bod heaved and coughed.

The Wizard carefully pulled one of her eyelids up.

"She is still alive," he announced in relief, and Thorin exhaled loudly and muttered praise to Mahal.

The Wizard lifted his hands and moved them slowly above her chest, whispering something. And then she gulped a lungful of air, her body stirred, and the lashes fluttered.

"Bilbo…"

"I am here!" the Halfling rushed to her, and fell on his knees. "I am here..."

She finally opened her eyes, and the Hobbit picked up her hand and pressed it to his chest.

"You are soaked..." she whispered. "Hobbits cannot swim… Silly Halfling..."

He laughed, and others chuckled in relief as well. Most stood leaning on trees, catching their breath. Fili was dragging his coat off, no doubt to offer it to the woman. Bofur threw his over the Halfling's shoulders.

"Are you alright?" the woman asked, her other hand brushing at the Halfling's cheek.

"Me? I just took a bath." He chuckled, and she groaned, and tried to sit up. "You were the one who..." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat.

"What happened? I remember a cave, and some creature..."

Dwalin had the same question. She was a botch, the Halfling was bloodied and soaked. The Hobbit's throat bobbed, and he comfortingly patted her hand on his chest.

And she lunged ahead, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Mahal help me, I feared for you..." The Hobbit froze, his eyes giant, and Dwalin noticed Thorin slowly move away from her, still kneeling.

"I am alright," the Halfling answered awkwardly, and she shied away. As pale as her cheeks were, they coloured slightly in abashment.

"I have your axes, my lady." Nori's voice broke the uncomfortable silence, and she looked at him. "We were falling, into the goblin caves, and I grabbed them. I am sorry, just the axes, not the sword, or..."

"Thank you, Master Nori." Her voice rang emotionally, gratitude in every feature, and she grabbed the axes and pressed them to her chest like a long lost child, or the most precious of treasures. She then passed them to Fili, who clasped them to his back. The boys always had couple more empty scabbards, in case he came across another blade to add to his arsenal.

Thorin rose, and Dwalin passed him his sword. Thorin's face was dark, and Dwalin once again wondered just when the stubborn goat would admit to himself he wanted her. It was clear as day Thorin was smitten. Dwalin himself preferred blondes, but it was obvious Thorin had made his choice. And they were on a quest, either could die any day. Why wait? Dwalin thought Thorin was dim to just pine over her, since only a _lulkh_ would not notice the looks she threw at the stubborn Dwarf. And the Hobbit was lurking around! Just look at him - holding her hand, making sure she knew how much he suffered for her! Dwalin scoffed, and looked at Thorin again.

"We should move. They might try to follow us when the dark falls," Thorin grumbled. "Can you walk?" he asked the woman, his voice and face immediately softening.

She hurriedly tried to get up, and the Hobbit pressed his hands onto her shoulders.

"She needs rest! We need to carry her!" He sounded indignified, and Dwalin smirked. The Halfling was to have his head bitten off! There was no way she would allow him to treat her like a child!

"I am alright..." she mumbled mollifyingly. Dwalin looked at her in surprise. Apparently the Hobbit's pitiful looks worked, and she was forgiving towards him. Curse him.

She tried to rise, Kili had rushed to help her, and she heavily leaned onto his shoulder.

"I might need rest soon, we need to find a safe place for a camp," she admitted grudgingly, and then the first Warg howl came.

"Out of the frying pan..." Thorin whispered.

"And into the fire! Run!" The Wizard bent down and picked up the woman.

All they could do was run after him and away from the mutts.

* * *

And of course there was a cliff, and no way to run anymore. Dwalin hardly imagined his demise to be of that sort, but after all death was death. He grabbed his axe more deftly, and prepared to join Mahal's guard. And then the Wizard ordered them to climb, and Dwalin scoffed. What was the point of prolonging it? And yet he jumped up, and grabbed the lowest branch.

And then the curs started rocking the pines, and one after another they started keeling, like goblets on a pantry shelf, and then he heard Thorin scream, "Werna!"

She was on the ground, and Dwalin realised that she probably had slid off a branch. The Wizard should have taken better care of her! Her right arm was broken, and she was still weak. Dwalin barked a curse. And then Thorin lunged down, his sword loudly cracking the skull of the nearest Warg, and to his surprise Dwalin saw the Halfling join him in an instant. Fili and Kili followed suit, and Dwalin decided such death was a much better chance.

He took two mutts out by the time he joined them under their pine, and by then two more dead mongrels were at Thorin's feet. Fili and Kili had ended one more. The Halfling stood over the woman who rose on all four and coughed, blood dripping on the ground from her lips.

"Can you fight?" Thorin threw to her over his shoulder, and she got up swaying, her hand on the trunk of the tree.

"Aye!" Her voice was firm though, and Thorin stepped backwards, and pushed Deathless into her hands, without turning back to look, his eyes trained on another five mongrels slowly prowling to them.

"Werna!" the Hobbit squeaked. Dwalin met her eyes, and saw a feral grin stretch her bloodied lips. What a woman! Dwalin nodded approvingly, and she straightened and swirled Thorin's sword in her left hand. Dwalin thanked Mahal for the two axes she was used to fighting with.

Dwalin could see Balin slide on the ground, and then Bifur. Dori and Nori were almost at the lowest branches as well, when the Pale Orc amount his white Warg stepped from between trees, and Dwalin spat on the ground. The filth lived!

"Thorin, son of Thrain..." the _guzg_ snarled in Black Speech, and Thorin bared his teeth and lifted his sword. "You reek of fear, just like your father before you."

The company - those who had came down by then, and others from branches - yelled some curses, and those on the ground stepped closer to Thorin, forming a semicircle, with the Halfling and the woman inside, their backs to the pine.

"My lady!" Fili's voice made her turn around just in time to catch her right hand axe. She wouldn't be too deft with it, but it would help.

"Bring me their heads! But that one is mine!" Azog pointed at Thorin with the ugly poker he now had for his hand, and Dwalin smirked. At least, the Orc filth would have a souvenir from the Khazad.

Others braced themselves for a fight, and Dwalin could not wait to taste some Orc blood, when the first piercing screech came from above.

Giant, terrifying birds - and Dwalin did not even know fowl could grow so large - came down from the sky, and for a few moments it was unclear whether that was good news, or Dwalin would after all be deprived of honourable death in combat. And then he saw Wargs and Orcs being thrown over the cliff, and his companions being picked up, and carried away, one after another.

Dwalin did not appreciate how mounting the overgrown chickens was handled. He would have preferred to at least climb one himself, not being picked up and then thrown down, Mahal help him, by sheer chance landing on the neck of another of the cursed quails.

Maybe, if he had opened his eyes he would know where they were being carried, but he just grabbed to the feathers and prayed to Mahal.


	23. The Shelter

Werna sat on a boulder, shivers running through her body, some sort of apathy having come over her. After the flight with the Eagles - one of the most terrifying things she had ever gone through in her life - they were far too North and were now in need of food and shelter, away from the Orcs that were still running them down.

It hurt to breathe, the right arm was numb and cold, and even in Fili's coat she felt as if she had swallowed a foot long icicle that now stood in her throat and down into her stomach. Her thoughts were also as if frozen. It mattered not whether they walked, or stopped. She could not sleep from the ache, but could not say she was awake either.

"How is pain, Werna?" the King's soft voice came, and she lifted her face to him. Worry splashed in his eyes. She tried to focus, but everything was seen through some shimmering, unpleasant mist.

"It is quite alright," she answered bleakly, and he nodded, frowning.

Some vague thought stirred in her mind, something to do with this very noble face she just could not quite concentrate on. Something to do with letters… And then she remembered.

"Where is Bilbo?" she asked, and saw the King's lips twitch.

"Went to look around," Thorin grumbled, and hastily walked away from her. She pulled the collar up, hiding her nose in the fur. Now that he stepped away, she realised that his presence had felt soothing.

Bombur sat near her, and she felt his cloak lie on her shoulders. She nodded gratefully, no strength to speak, and then she saw Bilbo come down from around some large rocks.

Agitated conversation started, he was convincing, the Dwarves were exclaiming, and gesturing, and Werna closed her eyes. If only the pain were to step back for a wee bit, she could probably sleep. Bombur's cloak smelled of smoke, and woods, and Werna took a careful breath in. Sharp burning slashed across her right side, and she gritted her teeth.

"We need to go." She heard Kili's voice above her, and she almost felt like shaking her head - she just wanted some peace - but then she opened her eyes and rose heavily. "Would you need help, my lady?" the boy asked, whispering, probably trying to preserve her dignity, and she smiled weakly to him.

"Thank you, Kili. I am alright for now. But I will probably need aid later." Pretending to feel better than she was would be unreasonable. It would only cause more trouble for the company.

She knew of course that Thorin would prefer to leave her behind - and she would be the first one to suggest it - but as a true leader he would refuse to do so in an unsafe place. She felt shame clench at her heart. She was slowing them down. The Durin's day was approaching, and instead of a fast travelling, capable companion, which she had always striven to be, she was nothing but a burden.

* * *

It was time to admit she was in a much worse state than she had assumed when she started stumbling with each step, the path under her feet swimming in front of her eyes. Colours seemed too bright, unnatural, making something painfully clenched in her temples, and she was hearing some sort of a tune, which would be preposterous in the woods, in the middle of nowhere.

After her foot snatched at yet another root, she fell ahead, on all four.

"Werna!" Bilbo's worried voice came through the tune she heard.

The cursed tune was bouncing in her head, like buckwheat in a child's rattle toy. It was that lullaby, the one Dania sang to her, was it not? Werna shook her head, trying to chase it away.

A pair of strong hands picked her up. She felt acute surprise - the Hobbit surely could not feel so solid and warm, and then she met Thorin's blue eyes.

"Hold on," he spoke softly, and she blinked, trying to understand what was transpiring.

He was keeping her upright with one hand, and she could not understand what he was doing, and then she saw him pass his walking axe to Dwalin. Her body was slumping, and she suddenly found herself pressed into him head to toe. Her cheek brushed to the coarse beard. In her feverish state it was overwhelming.

"Can you walk, Werna? I can carry you, but if you can..."

"I can," she muttered, fighting the haze.

Sensations were flooding her, swirling in her mind, and her body. Since the day she saw him in the parlour of Bilbo's house, she had not allowed herself to think that now he was a grown up man, seasoned warrior, splendid, and so very male. She had kept her distance, she had prohibited herself to look, to guess, to even try to imagine what he felt like… Smelled like…

Her lungs filled with the spicy fragrance of his skin, mixed with leather, and pipeweed smoke, and her face pressed to his neck, her head heavy, and her knees giving in. The skin was scorching, and the whiskers on his jaw scraped at the tip of her nose.

She now knew she had been very, very wise to never touch him, or let her thoughts wander. As long as he remained just her leader, and a vague ethereal man, even with all his allure, she had been safe.

He carefully maneuvered her left arm around his neck, and she moaned, from pain and - Mahal have mercy - from the undeserved, prohibited pleasure.

"Hold on," he repeated, and they started walking.

She pacified herself with the thought that the company was still moving rather fast. The Orcs were still in pursuit, though, and close, judging by the howling she could sometimes discern through the ringing of her ears.

There was another voice too. It was more bear like, rather than the wolf holler of the Wargs. And then they stepped out of the woods, and into an open valley, and the Sun blinded her. She covered her eyes, tears running her cheeks, from sharp piercing pain, and then the world went almost dark. Thorin barked something, and another pair of arms picked her up - it was Gandalf, she knew by then - and he ran, and from the shaking, and the agitation she felt coming off him, the ache wracked through her body, and cough raged through her chest, like daggers in her lungs, and she felt the salt and bitterness of blood in her mouth.

* * *

They ran through some gates, she could hear the clanking and banging, of hands, and armour, and then there was a terrifying roar. Her eyes opened, and right in front of her she saw a muzzle of a beast, which could hardly be called a bear, but reminded of the animal most. It roared, teeth and fangs bared, its saliva flying, and then Thorin stepped between her and the door, and she could not see, but then heard the bolt fall down.

The silence was deafening.

"It is leaving," Ori whispered, and Werna heavily slumped on the ground.

"What is the fracas there?" A loud male voice came from the other side of the house, and the Dwarves shifted somewhere in Werna's unfocused vision, swords clanking. So, it had not been her mind playing tricks on her, there was someone else here. And she could swear she knew the voice…

She got up, staggering.

"Werna!" The King called after her, but half blind, gripping to the walls, she walked through the house, through the back door, and into the back yard.

In a large wooden tub, filled with water, with a washcloth in his hand, sat Amrod, son of Mablung. His shoulders were covered in soap suds, and wet hair was stuck to his forehead. It had been ten years, and yet she recognised him immediately.

"Werna?" He was frozen with his hand lifted, his coffee coloured eyes wide and astonished, and she swayed.

This time those were indeed Bilbo's hands that supported her.

"Do you know this man?" Gandalf asked, and she nodded shakily.

"Aye. His name is Amrod, son of Mablung… And he is a traitor and a murderer."

* * *

 **A/N; If the name at the end of the chapter doesn't ring a bell, I refer you to chapter 16, or to some of my other stories ( _Thorin's Defeat, Life That Never Was,_ and some others).**

 **Hope you're enjoying the story! Reviews are highly appreciated :)**

 **Cheers,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

* * *

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

* * *

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

* * *

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	24. Amrod, son of Mablung

_10 years ago..._

* * *

"...And then I said, 'I am alright with the ale, but the troll will have to go!'" Amrod delivered the punch line of his anecdote, and the merchants and the guards rolled with laughter. Even the two Khazad under Werna's command smirked into their beards. Werna shook her head in amusement, and exhaled a blueish ring of pipeweed smoke. The Gondorian - and by then, she had learnt a lot about Amrod, including where he was born and how he had had to leave his service in Ithilien - had a light, droll sense of humour and the merry disposition, capable of inspiriting almost anyone.

The light of their campfire crackled cozily, and Werna's thoughts wandered back to her home and her family that she had left behind. As much as she missed the Iron Hills, Dania, and their Mother, nothing could compare to the peace she felt in her heart when travelling the wilderness.

The guard came back from the look out, and Werna rose. It was her turn, and she nodded to the Man who was already picking up the bowl of stew from the hands of his companion. The Man smiled to her. They had been travelling together for the last three moons. None of them was foolish enough to hold on to the suspicions and animosity, especially after two short altercations with Orcs three and two week ago that they had to face together, fighting shoulder to shoulder. On such journeys warriors from all races had to have each other's back, even if they were to return to their bigotry and prejudices once their paths were to separate.

* * *

An hour later she heard rustling behind her, from the side of the camp, and then Amrod stepped from out of the shrubs.

"My lady, I came for an inappropriate personal conversation." His tone was mischievous and jolly as usual, and yet she caught an underlying tension in his voice.

"Well, what time is better for such conversation than when I am to pay all possible attention to the hordes of Orcs roaming these lands and just waiting for an opportune moment to cut our throats in our sleep?" she answered, in their usual banter, but to her surprise he did not answer with a witty line, as he had always before, and sat on the fallen tree near her. He took out his pipe, and busied himself with the tobacco pouch. Werna was watching his long fingers move in the confident, familiar rhythm.

"I am afraid I have broken a promise to you, my lady," the former ranger spoke, squinting his eyes, lighting up his pipe.

"Oh?" Werna looked at him in surprise. He hummed, and the first aromatic cloud puffed out from the pipe, and a delicate stream of smoke joined it, from between his lips.

"We have agreed that our friendship and our frolics are to be nothing but an entertainment for both of us." He finally met her eyes, and Werna frowned. "But I am afraid my heart decided otherwise..."

The silence and the darkness reigned around them, and Werna felt her heart break its rhythm. When the meaning of his words - and the deep understanding of him, the gift she had always possessed, and that had been augmented when she had a chance to spend time with the person - reached her mind, she expected to feel pity, and perhaps even irritation. Whether he lied, or not - and she felt she could feel his sincerity - his proclamation was absurd, and untimely, and inappropriate, just as he had said. And yet, she could feel something stir in her heart.

Werna smiled sadly.

"How old are you, Amrod, son of Mablung?"

"I have seen twenty three Springs," he answered simply, and then he was obviously intending to continue, but Werna interrupted him.

"I killed my first Orc more than a hundred fifty years ago, Amrod," she spoke softly. "There is Durin's blood in my veins, and my sister was to marry a King. Your heart is just confused."

He exhaled more of his smoke, and stretched his long legs in front of him. His eyes were calmly studying her.

"I am no boy, Werna, daughter of Lyr." He smirked lopsidedly, answering her in the same manner she had addressed him.

"And yet you speak like a child. And just as aimlessly as they do, I suspect. What do you expect to hear in return, my kind sir?" Werna was starting to grow irked by his confident posture and his open way of looking her over.

"I expect you to tell me what you feel." He smiled widely, and she exhaled sharply in annoyance.

"I feel that I am being propositioned by a babe who thinks he has the right to speak to me in such manner."

"I thought we were friends."

"Not anymore," Werna answered sharply, and turned her back to him. "Return to the camp, and remember your place, kind sir. I summon, I have expected too much acumen from the likes of you."

"The likes of me?" he asked, and she jumped up from how close he suddenly was. He had moved so swiftly and silently! He was looming over her, bending down, and the ends of his silken, heavy chestnut hair brushed at her ear.

She took a hasty step away from him.

"How dare you?.." she hissed, and he barked a warm laughter.

"My lady," he started, and his voice was merry and calm, and she gathered lungfuls of air to berate him, but suddenly his long finger lay across her lips. "Let me speak, _elanor._ " The Elven word was unfamiliar, and Werna shifted, trying to free her lips. "Neither your blood, nor your age matter to me, or rather would not have mattered had I fallen in love with you. I have yet to make this mistake." He smiled and leaned even lower, his eyes level with hers. The warm finger finally left her lips, but she found it impossible to speak, their eyes locked, and her pulse frantically beating in her throat. "But there is just something so very enticing..." He did not finish, and Werna saw his gaze fall onto her lips.

She winced away from him.

"You are being… preposterous!"

"I am being inquisitive and considerate, _elanor_. I am asking of the ford before leaping into water. Tell me you are nothing but my friend - or rather, used to me before I opened my big mouth - and this conversation ends here."

There was the air of serenity and assurance around him, and Werna opened her mouth - and then closed it with a clank of teeth.

"What does it mean? 'Elanor?'" she asked raspily. Why was she not refusing him decisively and perhaps in the most patronising manner?! He was an impudent youngling!

"It is a name of a flower that grows in my home lands. It is red and golden at the same time, just like your curls. It's full of life and burns in the fields like flame." He smiled to her, and she suddenly remembered why she had allowed him closer at the first place. There was the noble spirit and hunger for life in him, and they called to her.

"I do not see you as anything but a friend, Amrod. But even this is an achievement and a wonder." She chuckled. "I am a seasoned Dwarven warrior, and you are a Siginkann."

He stood silently for a few moments, his gaze intent on her face, and then he slowly breathed out and lowered his eyes.

"Well, that is it then..." he pronounced in a low voice, and Werna nodded although he could not see her. He cleared his throat purposefully, and when he lifted his eyes his face was blissful and a smile was dancing on his lips. "And what does 'siginkann' mean?"

"A Man. The term is quite impolite." She smiled in return. He tsk-tsked.

"And which of my flaws does it mock? The lack of a luscious beard, or a chest too narrow?" He laughed smokily, and clapped his large hand on his breastplate. For a Man, Werna could not argue, he was wide-shouldered and his arms bulged with muscles.

"Long-legged. Like a stork," she answered cheekily, and he clasped his hand over his mouth, muffling his roaring laughter. They were after all in the woods on a look out.

"Well, then I shall take my long beak back to my bedroll," he gave her a wink, and tapped the tip of his - indeed - long, narrow nose. "And let me say one more thing, Werna, daughter of Lyr, before we forget this affair altogether..." His voice dropped, and he leaned in to her face again. This time she did not shy away.

"Your loss, _elanor_ ," he murmured, and his fresh breath brushed at her lips. There was perhaps a hand width of space between them, and Werna leaned in, covering half of it. His eyes widened.

"I am in mourning already," she whispered, and he straightened up, laughing, and clapping the hand to his hip.

"Oh, what have I done to deserve this heartbreak and humiliation?" He tragically rolled his eyes, turned around, and left towards the camp.

All Werna could do was to shake her head, sit down with her pipe, and mull over what had just happened. She arrived to no conclusions.

* * *

Two weeks later, when their company was crossing a shallow creek, they were attacked by a pack of Orcs.

* * *

 _The continuation of this story from ten years ago will appear in the next chapter._


	25. Ten Years Ago

**Author's note:**

 **PLEASE READ!**

 **My darlings, I'm launching my new site in a few days. It will have my webserial,** _ **Ani**_ **(first chapters currently available on JukePop; and in future updated once in two weeks); my art; recipes; and much more for you to enjoy!**

 _ **Ani**_ **is my independent fantasy novel, in which I take a spin on the plot of** _ **Me Without You,**_ **but also there are quasi-Slavic, quasi-Viking sea warriors, the dead King might or might not look like Michael Fassbender in my head, his lieutenant Gosta is a hot ginger too, and there are two headed sea serpents :)**

 **You can sign up for the newsletter for the site on my professional Facebook page (facebook dot com slash katyakolmakov), the link can also be found on my Instagram (kkolmakov), and on my blog (kolmakov dot ca). **

**C'mon, me darlings, join the army of King Einar ;)**

 **Love you!**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

The pack had swept from their side then, appearing as if from nowhere, and that was when Werna lost the first of her warriors. She remembered him well now, ten years later. Gran, son of Braga. The youngest of them, dark haired, with laughing eyes alike black cherries. He had a wife in Iron Hills, she was of the Erebor Dwarves. He was reckless, and rushed into the fight without thinking. He had taken out five Orcs before he fell. The guards of Men fought poorly, Werna saw three of them tumble on the ground in the first few instants of the attack. She could not tell if they were dead. The two remaining Khazad warriors under her command quickly regrouped, and the three of them shielded the merchants.

And that was when the Haradrim appeared. They had been concealed behind a small hillock to the West of the creek they fought in, their feet sliding on rocks and shallow water. First, Werna could almost believe that the beasts and the Southrons had formed an alliance, but then she saw the curved Haradrim swords fall equally on the Men and the Orcs.

The Haradrim were few, probably just a scouting company. One of them was shouting some raspy orders. Were Werna not preoccupied with the monsters, she would have understood quicker that the assailants were intent on disposing of merchants and the guard, but herself and her companions were to be captured. Only when a thick net fell on Frar, son of Freri, she screamed to her warriors in Khuzdul warning them.

A fight was never a neat business, but when one had three sides, two fighting to survive and to kill, while the third pursuing a different cause, one could hardly keep track of what was transpiring.

The combat stopped as abruptly as it had started, and Werna looked around. All Men but two merchants and one guard were dead, the creek was full of foul black blood of Orcs, their bodies slashed and cut lying in ugly heaps in the shallow water. The Haradrim were gone, having left two of their dead behind them. One of Werna's warriors was kneeling, supporting himself on the handle of his battle axe, breathing loudly. Another lay in the grass, to her left, long straight sword of Men having entered his throat above the breast plate.

Werna stumbled to him. His unseeing eyes were wide open, the white clouds reflected in the brown irises. Werna pulled at the sword, blood gushed out of the wound, and she looked at the handle.

She recognised the long grip, and the round plummet immediately. She had see the long fingers of Amrod, son of Mablung wrap around the hilt innumerous times.

Werna looked around. The Gondorian was gone.

* * *

 _Present day..._

* * *

"Werna!" The Man smiled widely. "I would rise to greet you, my friend, but I do not wish to shock you with my bareness..."

"I am not your friend!" Werna wanted to scream, but her voice came out as a screechy rasp. "You colluded with the Ibrizbuzru! You murdered my warrior!" Werna felt Bilbo, who was supporting her, jerk, and the Dwarves moved behind her, the unmistakable sound of blades sliding out of scabbards could be heard.

"Oh you are still the same blaze, elanor!" The Man laughed lightly, and pushed wet hair off his face. "I have not colluded with the Haradrim. I was captured, and spent five years in slavery."

He lifted his arms dramatically, and Werna saw scars around his wrists. She had seen them before. The jagged shackles the Southrons were to restrain a captive, and slowly bleed them to keep from regaining strength to run. Judging by the depth and width of the ones on the wrists of Amrod, son of Mablung, he had still been trying for a long time after they had been locked around his arms. The scars, which Werna now noticed, on his shoulders and chest - from whips and chains - were quite telling as well.

"Your sword was buried in the neck of my warrior..."

"It was taken from me." She saw Amrod's face grow dark. "This dishonour will remain with me till my grave, elanor."

Werna's eyes searched his face.

"I am much more interested how you convinced the Skinchanger to play generous host to you, kind sir." The Wizard's voice was calm and slightly sarcastic, and Amrod threw him a merry look.

"I came bearing gifts."

"Gifts?" the King asked, and stepped forward. Amrod's dark lively eyes shifted at him, and suddenly the Man barked a throaty laugh.

"Is it your Dwarf, elanor? The one you were pining for all those years ago?"

Werna felt her knees give in, and Bilbo caught her once again. Blood rushed from her already pale cheeks. She could feel the King's eyes on herself, but she stubbornly continued looking at the Man.

"So, aye, back to our business," Amrod drew out, pointedly splashed in his tub, and chuckled. "Aye, gifts. Three Goblin heads and a gutted Warg. And then we drank." Amrod chuckled and shook his head good-naturedly. "My head is splitting, the Bearman can hold his brew, but on the other hand, I was invited to help myself to hot water while our host... went for a stroll."

He gave them a beaming grin, and then patted the surface of his bath with an open palm, making loud flopping noises.

"I suggest you go back to the house, and help yourselves to food and rest. It is time I come out, and ladies are present here." His eyes met Werna's, and he bit into his bottom lip flirtily. "Unless you want to stay of course, my flame..."

"Watch your tongue, Gondorian," the King growled, and Werna whipped her head and looked at the Dwarf in astonishment. He had stepped forward, and Orcrist was bared in his hand. A ray of sunlight slid along the curved blade. Muscles tensed to the King's jaw, and the glacial eyes were burning. "You are speaking to a warrior of the Khazad. Do not make me teach you manners."

To her surprise, Werna realised the Man paid little attention to the King's outburst, which Werna knew should not have been taken that lightly. The rage underneath the cold facade was genuine, and the temper of the King-in-Exile was well known.

"Now I see why my childish affection was not returned then, my flower." Amrod smiled blissfully, and Werna heard the King grit his teeth. "You fancy them hot, as if just from under a hammer, do you not?"

Werna opened her mouth to rebuke the impudent Man, but the world swayed in front of her eyes, and she started sagging on the ground.

"Werna?" Bilbo's worried voice rang in her ears, through the unpleasant buzzing noise, and the world was growing increasingly darker.

Another pair of arms picked her up, and the already familiar sensation of being held by the King overwhelmed Werna's senses.

"Keep an eye on the Man!" the King barked, and Werna heard Bilbo mumble something. She could not feel his presence anymore, and she tried to gather some bearings, but she was growing more and more muddled. "Tharkun, she needs aid!"

The King led her back into the house, loud voices were heard behind her, and Werna wanted to tell the King that she perhaps did believe the Gondorian, but then she felt Thorin's scorching palm brush hair off her face.

"She is pale… Look… There is blood on the lips..." Thorin sounded distressed, and then she was laid on something soft, and she felt some fresh, soft fabric under her cheek.

Werna's eyes were closing, and then the King' agitated words were the last thing she heard before heavy, suffocating slumber took her.

"Do whatever you need… Save her..."

* * *

 _She dreamt of the day the letter came. It was mid Summer, the heat, humid, and heavy was lying on her chest, as if a barrel had rolled over her._

 _"Nanith!" Dania walked into the room, a parchment in her hand, and Werna lifted her eyes from the book in front of her. "Another letter from him!"_

 _"So soon?" Werna asked in surprise. A raven from King Thorin had arrived no longer than a fortnight ago, and the response had not been sent yet._

 _"I have not opened it without you," Dania assured, and gracefully sat down near Werna on the bench. "Shall I?"_

 _"Wait!" Werna covered Dania's nimble fingers with her hand, and some odd, chilling shudder ran her body. "I have a grave feeling… Here..." Werna splayed her hand over her chest, and Dania gave her a sceptical look over._

 _"Your id-zannag?" She jested, pointing at her sister's bosom with her eyes, and Werna made a scoffing noise._

 _"In my heart, you yellow headed rutabaga!"_

 _Dania only laughed, and shook her head condescendingly, but Werna just could not rein her tremours. Dania laughed on, until her eyes ran the first lines of the letter, and then her face grew pale._

 _"Mahal help me..." Her blueish green eyes flew up, and Werna saw Dania's lips grow white._

 _"What?! What is it?" Werna tried to grab the letter, but Dania did not allow it._

 _"Werna..."_

 _"What is it?! Speak already!"_

 _"This is grave news..." Dania drew up, regaining her usual composure. Her beautiful eyes narrowed, and Werna grabbed her shoulders._

 _"What is it?! Is he well?! Does he live?! Dania, it is all I care about, just tell me! Is he well?!"_

 _"He is. All is well. But… He breaks up the betrothal..."_

 _The relief that washed over Werna was so strong that she first exhaled sharply and muttered gratitude to Mahal before the meaning of her sister's words reached her understanding._

* * *

"Is she burning? Her cheeks are red…" The King's voice was distraught.

"She just needs rest… The lungs are afflicted… She will recover…" Was that Tharkun speaking?

"You can stay while she heals..." Another voice answered, low, and animal like, with strange cadence to it. "So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Werna did not hear the rest of the conversation, as her sleep - now dreamless - took her.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

 **Details in the latest blog post.**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	26. Speak the Truth

**PLEASE READ!**

 **My site has officially launched yesterday!**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 **Please have a look!**

 **It is a fantasy world I'm building around my independent story, and the plot might remind some of you of a story of mine ;) A dead king in dreams of a simple healer... But this time it is quite a different story.**

 **There is the map, the first two chapters (comments are highly appreciated! :D), and my art. Sign up for the newsletter to be notified of the updates, such as the recipe section (coming soon), next chapters, and more illustrations of myths and landscapes of my world Rodhina. Visit the world of red haired sea warriors, a city on the back of a giant whale, and elemental magic!**

 **Sincerely yours,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Werna was slowly recovering with the help of the Wizard, and the herbs and the hearty meals provided by their host. Belligerent initially, he eventually started showing hospitality to them, at large thanks to Amrod's efforts. Despite the King's obvious enmity towards him, the Gondorian showed nothing but light, merry disposition. He did not leave the Skinchanger's house either, staying behind for some reason, chopping wood, and entertaining the host with his anecdotes. The Dwarves divided into two distinct cliques, some befriending the Gondorian and drinking the Skinchanger's mead with the two Long-Legged Ones, while others - Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin mostly - kept their distance.

Four days later Werna was sitting on a grassy hillock in the backyard of the Skinchanger's house. The day was cloudless, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the peace and comfort, feeling as if her body dissolved in the balm of the warmth.

She knew someone was approaching her without opening her eyes, but she stayed still, not wishing to scare off the serenity.

"Werna..." Bilbo's quiet voice made her reluctantly open her eyes. The Hobbit looked well, his cheeks were rosy, and eyes shining. Werna caught herself once again gazing at his pleasant face, and the golden locks, and then she quickly shook off her mawkishness and gave him a polite smile.

His face was worried, and Werna did not feel like arguing that she did not fare well. She was still very pale, her right arm was in a sling, and although the bandages across her chest under the tunic helped, pain was still nagging at her body with each breath.

"Werna, I came to discuss our plans..." His nose twitched again, and Werna gave him a surprised look. "Soon the company will resume their journey, and... you cannot go!" the Hobbit blurted out, and shifted between his feet. "I am not saying you should stay with the Gondorian, he is no pair to you either… but you cannot go! You are hurt!"

Werna watched the Halfling, and then she snorted a small laugh. He looked like a kettle with water boiling in it. He probably had been keeping these thoughts to himself for a while, and Werna did not judge his tone, although of course he had no right to tell her what to do and whose company to choose.

"Bilbo, I am well enough to continue the quest, and it is not the first time that I have been wounded. I can still fight with my left arm..."

"Is it because of Thorin?" the Hobbit interrupted, and then his nose as much as danced on his face. Werna now understood that what she had mistaken for a healthy rosiness was a furious blush on the Hobbit's cheekbones. "Your letters were addressed to him, and the Gondorian said so as well!"

"My letters? You saw my letters?!" Werna's hand habitually flew up to the secret pocket inside her tunic where she could not feel the familiar rectangular. She immediately remembered that the letters would not be there. They had been lost in the caves, just as her armour and her Father's sword, she thought mournfully. And then to her astonishment, the Hobbit stretched his hand to her, and she saw her lilac ribbon and the parchments with the beloved handwriting.

"You gave them to me… In the caves. For safekeeping." Werna's fingers shook when she took the letters out of his hand. "They are written by Thorin, are they not? I recognise the signature and the seal..."

Werna stroked the paper, and felt her throat constrict. The letters were water stained, her own blood smeared on them as well, but these were them, the only reminder that he spoke of love to her some time ago. She pressed the letters to her chest. She was feeling so emotional that she had no strength to rebuke the Halfling for his inappropriate questions.

The Hobbit puffed and huffed, rocked on his heels, fisting and unfisting his hands around his braces.

"Werna, I am your friend!" he finally exclaimed, and she looked at him aghast.

"Bilbo..."

"Yes! Yes, that is good..." He nodded to his own thoughts and hummed a small noise. "I am your friend, and I care for you. I cannot bare to see you endangering yourself! You cannot go on the journey!"

"Bilbo, I… refused your courtship..." Werna muttered, and the Halfling stopped his fidgeting and rocking.

"What does it have to do with the situation at hand?"

They looked at each other, clearly confused. Was it indeed not jealousy speaking in him? she asked herself. Was he indeed preoccupied with her well-being, selflessly and sincerely?

"Oh Bilbo..." She felt tears roll over her eyes. She knew she could not be as noble as him were she the one whose proposition were rejected. She was a Khuzd, proprietary and possessive.

And now she was finally understanding why he remained close to her after their conversation in Rivendell, and after the kiss, and why his manners were as friendly and cordial as before. She had been avoiding him, still sore after their exchange. After all, she was not dispassionate towards him. To be honest, she quite often thought how much easier it would have been if she could follow her heart's desire and return his feelings completely. She had been avoiding him, he remained her friend.

"They are from Thorin..." she whispered. She did not dare to lift her eyes and look at him. But she felt she owed him her honesty. "There was a… misunderstanding, a confusion many years ago… He thought he wrote to my sister, but it was not quite true… Oh, Mahal help me, it is complicated..."

The Hobbit slowly approached and sat near her on the blanket.

"You should tell him," the Halfling said simply, and Werna shook her head.

"I cannot..." She hastily wiped her tears, not letting them spill. "It has been so tangled… And he will not forgive me, for lying to him for so many years..."

"What if he does? If he cares for you, he will!"

A joyless chuckle fell off Werna's lips.

"He only has just started appreciating me as a warrior. I cannot risk it. I have already gotten myself wounded, and I am holding the company back."

"That was not your fault!" the Hobbit squeaked in indignation, and picked up her hand. His fingers were gentle, a hand so much smaller than the Dwarf's. "Werna, do you love him?" His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. Werna threw a side glance at him. He seemed affected, but nonetheless he kept a brave face!

"Oh Bilbo, why do you have to be so noble?! I can see you are pained to speak of it..." Werna squeezed his fingers. "Let us speak of something else." She tried to smile. "Surely, there are much better subjects..."

"So you do, do you not?" the Hobbit stubbornly continued. "And he was betrothed to you, not your sister, though he did not know. Does he not have the right to know? And if he returned your affection then, he will now as well..."

"He will not. It was not that simple..." Werna cringed, hating the past, and hating speaking of it. "The letters… Some of them were from me, and some were from my sister… We wrote them together. She said we should. He was betrothed to Dania, the heir of the bloodline. I have always been unworthy, and… She promised to help me, she promised he would love me..."

Werna could not keep the tears back anymore, and to her endless shame she broke down into sobs. She was just so tired! She felt thinned, exhausted, aches raged through her body, and seeing Thorin every day, and even having him embrace her twice had finally wracked her reserve!

And then she remembered who sat near her.

"Oh Bilbo, I am so sorry!" she cried out, and jerked her hand out of his. "I should not have..."

The Hobbit sighed deeply, and then to her astonishment he gave her a warm smile.

"I am quite alright, worry not. We Hobbits are much more resilient than you would think. And with all honesty, I have hardly expected to find myself in a situation involving heart troubles. I am your friend, Werna," he repeated. "I am happy to be of help to you. And I think you should tell him."

Werna was prepared to argue again, but he continued, "Please, hear me. If... if not for your sake, if not hoping for anything… do you not think he should know?"

"He broke off our… I mean, his betrothal to Dania." Werna picked up a grass blade and twirled it in her fingers.

"As I just said… As I said… not hoping for anything. Tell him the truth. Show the respect he deserves."

Werna's breathing hitched. He was right, of course.

Thorin did not love her, he never had. He loved the woman that did not exist. Telling him the truth could liberate him. It would take the burden off his heart and mind. Werna understood, of course. He had felt he was unworthy of Dania, daughter of Lyr, the heir to her line, the sister-daughter of Dain Ironfoot. He was crownless, and his kingdom was gone. If he knew now that he had been lied to, that he had no obligation on him, he perhaps would even pursue another woman. When Erebor were to be reclaimed, he could marry whoever he desired.

Werna had always praised herself on understanding the men of her race quite well. They valued nothing more than they valued duty. At the moment Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, felt that despite his decision many years ago, despite the official termination of his betrothal, he was still spoken for. And if their betrothal had been genuine, Werna would have felt the same way. One way or another, he had given his heart and his hand to a woman, and of course he would never pursue another.

Except, if she spoke truthfully, she would set him free. Pain gripped at her heart, and Werna pushed it away. She prohibited herself to think of him in the arms of another woman. She would let the thought torment her later. Everything was shaking inside, but she jumped on her feet, picking up the letters, and hiding them into her tunic.

"I will go now… I will tell him…" Her head swam, and Bilbo got up hastily.

"Werna, I was... um… I did not mean now… Your cheeks are red, I think you might be burning again… Perhaps… It is not the best of times… It is a rather hasty decision..."

"No!" Werna realised her voice was loud, but she shook her head, chasing away the ringing in her ears. "I will tell him… He needs to know!.. I will set him free..."

She started walking away, but then she turned around.

"Thank you, Bilbo… And forgive me..." She bowed to him, and when straightening up she swayed.

He was near her in an instant, and supported her. He was right again, of course. She was clearly muddled. Werna stubbornly pressed her lips. Perhaps, it was for the best. Perhaps, she would not have courage otherwise.

"Werna… You need to rest…"

A soft curl of the Halfling's golden hair brushed at her cheek, and Werna did not know how she found herself hiding her face into his neck.

"I wish it were you… It would have been so wonderful..." she mumbled, and immediately felt terrified of her words. The Hobbit drew a sharp breath in. She was ready to straighten up and apologise, when she felt him wrap his arms around her.

"I wish it too..." His whisper was hardly audible, and this time Werna could not tell which one of them leaned into the kiss first.

His lips were soft and already familiar, and Werna melted into the kiss, forgetting everything - the quest, the King she had lied to, and had no right to desire, her wounds, and the dangers ahead of them. Sweet bliss ran her veins and her muscles, and she wrapped her uninjured arm around his neck. And then she came back to her senses, just as abruptly as - apparently - she had lost her mind, and she winced away, and out of his tight embrace.

"If you apologise for this, I will be very offended," the Hobbit spoke, before she had a chance to open her mouth, his tone grumpy, and Werna choked out a surprised laugh. "And for goodness sake's, please go to bed."

She was watching him wide eyed, and all she could do was to nod. He hummed, nodded couple times, and left, his fingers flexing, and his shoulders rising and falling again.

Werna chewed at her lip, but then she decisively shook her head and marched in search of the King.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	27. It Takes Two to Talk

**Author's note:**

 **Please, check out my little Etsy shop! We are called _The King and Wren._ Yesterday, yours truly and a lovely Winnipeg artist put up our first pendants: acorns, oak leaves, a king wren, and of course my MiniThorins :) Give us a peek :)**

 **And now to something not at all different :P**

* * *

The King was bathing in a small stream, running at the bottom of a dell at the edge of the Skinchanger's premises. Werna as much as ran around a shed that was hiding the view from her, and then she stopped dead in her tracks.

Water was reaching him midthigh, and the only garment he wore were thin breeches, currently stuck to his wet skin.

On her way here Werna had passed Dwalin and Nori who were playing backgammon in the backyard of Beorn's house, and when she asked, Dwalin pointed her at the right direction. The only thought thrashing in Werna's panicking mind at the moment was an astonished question why neither of the Dwarves had warned her what position she would find the King in.

Werna had seen a fair amount of Khazad in different stages of undress in her life. She was a warrior after all. There had been training sessions, travelling together, and shared bath chambers. Propriety was of course tended to, and undergarments remained on the bodies, but she could not say male physique was a mystery to her.

And yet, frozen in front of him, her face flushed, and her chest heaving, Werna felt as if a bucket of cold water was toppled over her head. Or perhaps, it was boiling oil.

He was - no doubt - the most attractive man she had seen in her life. His eyes closed, soap suds on his hair and his wide shoulders, he lifted a wooden pail he had in his hands, and the water rushed along the dark waves of his hair and down his torso, along the strong tendons of his neck, swirling into the thick black and silver chest hair, along a large jagged scar below the right collarbone, and then the brilliant blue eyes slowly opened.

Werna squeaked and twirled on her heels, turning her back to him.

"Um… Pardon me… I was..." She was mumbling like a flustered youngling, and as much as she ordered herself to gather her bearings, nothing helped. Her heart was drumming in her throat.

"Have you come to wash as well?" His low voice was close, and she shuddered, small hairs standing up at the back of her neck. Of course, she was only imagining that she could feel his presence behind her, the heat coming from his body, and the smell of the soap.

"Um… I have come to speak to you..."

Werna at least remembered that much, but her thoughts were jumbled, and she just could not quite recall the details of what she was going to say in her noble urge to speak the truth to him, to liberate him of the past that he unfairly felt bound by, to confess her lies… and something else of the kind.

"Werna..." Once again, she was clearly imagining that his voice dropped lower. "Are you avoiding looking at me?"

Werna gulped, but the knot in her throat remained. She was feverishly trying to recollect whether she had felt that awkward in the presence of other men in similar circumstances, and thus whether her behaviour was somehow out of the ordinary, and then she drew a shuddered breath in and slowly turned around.

His head was slightly tilted, his eyes intent on her face, and Werna opened her mouth, but no words came out. The fingers of her hand twitched, betraying the flurry of her desire - to lift her hand, to touch, to feel his skin under hers, to finally rid herself of the torture of wondering, and imagining, and all those forbidden lustful thoughts, which she had been fighting for years, and which resurfaced and took shape now that he had held her close helping her to walk the last few miles to the house of the Skinchanger.

"I… Um..." She sounded as if someone was industriously choking her. One of his eyebrows slid higher, under a whimsical angle, and Werna felt like taking a cowardly step back. Or rushing ahead and sliding the tip of her finger along the cursed eyebrow!

"Yes?"

Werna shortly wondered if he was mocking her. A horrifying thought came. He knew! And understood! He somehow had guessed everything, and knew that she was besotted, and now he was torturing her!

"I..." She sounded whiny now, and her head swam.

"Yes?" He asked again, softer this time. Was he supposed to stand so close? "You came to speak to me. What is it?"

Perhaps, she was just being unreasonably suspicious. He seemed unaffected, and surely there was no hidden meaning behind his question. Werna felt something brush at her hand. She looked down and saw a water drop. It had fallen off the end of one of his long strands. Against all reason, the cold water drop felt scorching on her skin.

"It is regarding..." What was she to start with? Letters? Dania? Or perhaps how Dania had pushed her from around that curtain, right into his arms, and how later they went to the drawing room, and those busses they exchanged and she would think back at so many times. "It is regarding... courtship..."

"Oh..." The view of his lips forming a soft oval and his pupils dilating made her fist her hands tightly. "I see..."

The King shifted, as if breaking a tense string between them, allowing Werna to take a sharp breath in. He then bent and picked up an undertunic from the ground. Werna cowardly shifted her eyes from the long muscles on his back. Her eyes as if enjoying the view of the stream and the small grove on the other side, she could hear him rustle with the tunic, and then she looked. She could not say that him putting the garment on helped her sobriety even a tad. The now wet fabric clung to the outlines of the muscles, and the three top buttons were opened, so she could still see the hair and the scars.

"So, what is it about a courtship?" he asked, his face unreadable now. Had he just hid his face pretending to be preoccupied with the tunic to gather his thoughts?

And then Werna felt blood rush from her cheeks. He perhaps thought that she was proposing one to him! She made a small noise in her throat, as if trying to reassure him, but she angrily realised that neither Common Speech, nor Khuzdul were at her service at the moment.

"Werna, you seem unwell. Are you certain you want to talk now? And a bath perhaps is not a wise decision at the moment." The sincere and calm concern in his tone sobered Werna up. He was right! She needed to retire and gather her bearings. She was being preposterous!

"You look feverish. Your cheeks are flushed." And with these words, soft and caring, he cupped her jaw and leaned in to her face. "Are you burning?"

Werna had to fully concede that she was. But surely not in the sense the thick-skulled King was implying. Werna was surprised to realise that she was feeling increasingly irked. Even though he did not know the effect he was having on her, this was certainly cruel!

And when she finally opened her mouth to answer him - and mostly likely the answer would be unreasonably irritated, since she had an unfortunate proclivity to blurt out her most suppressed thoughts when she was emotional - she met his eyes and saw that perhaps she was not the only one burning here.

The King's eyes were widened, and it surely did not look like he was studying her pupils to determine the state of her health. His lips were slightly parted, and faint blush rose on his cheekbones.

"Werna..." he whispered, and Werna realised if she did nothing, the King would kiss her in an instant.

There were so many reasons why Werna had to stop it - the past she had come to confess, the guilt they would feel afterwards, and the pain she would feel after he regretted it - but the first thought that came was of Bilbo.

Bilbo… The one she kissed just a few minutes ago, and who was loyal and a wonderful friend to her…

Werna winced away, immediately lamenting the warmth of the King's palm on her skin.

"You are… right… I am unwell..." Her voice broke, and she sank nails into her palms. She just needed to run back into the house, and climb into the attic where the Skinchanger set a bedding for her, and there she would cry and let herself think of what had transpired again and again, until her head hurt. "I should go… lie down..."

She made a few clumsy steps back, caught her foot on a root, and flailed her arms in the air. The King lifted his hand, trying to catch her, his face confused and tense, but Werna only winced further away from him. She then hastily twirled around and rushed back to the house.

* * *

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Also available on the blog:

romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

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 _Blind Carnival_ , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

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 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

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 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	28. The King's Reprisal

**Author's note :**

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* * *

 **And now to the King and the Dwarven warrior! :)**

 **Love,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

The woman was not present at the midday meal. Neither did she come down for the supper. The Hobbit volunteered to bring her food up to her attic, and stayed there suspiciously long. When he came down, he threw Thorin such an obvious disapproving look that Thorin finished his meal before others and stepped outside - to smoke and think.

The evening was fresh, and Thorin stretched his legs, leaning back on the wall of the wood shed he was sitting behind, on a large log. Fireflies danced in the grass in front of him. He sighed deeply, trying to push uneasy thoughts at the back of his mind, and failing.

He had lost control. He still could not understand how it happened, but he did. All these last moons he had been so successful in suppressing his feelings towards her, and then one awkward situation, one moment of proximity, and all his praised reserve was gone! She was so beautiful, her eyes wide open, lips red, and it almost ended in a disaster!

He realised he was gritting his teeth to the mouthpiece of his favourite pipe, and in irritation he jerked it out of his mouth. Save Mahal, he was acting like the last idiot!

The Man's words echoed in his ears. _Is it your Dwarf, elanor? The one you were pining for all those years ago?_ So, ten years ago her heart was not free. She had also mentioned a man from a hundred seventy years before in her conversation with the Hobbit. Who was that man, Thorin asked himself. He had not met her then, in the last days of Erebor, but if her sister promised herself to him, Werna could have found love then as well. On the other hand, she seemed to have given the Halfling's preposterous proposition a thought, and she was too noble to betray an existing association, if there were any.

Thorin utterly disliked being confused. He would prefer to know, and to know with all possible clarity, whether indeed the woman had feelings for him, whether he indeed had seen desire in her eyes there by the stream, and why, in Mahal's name, she ran when he almost kissed her.

The question he was asking himself was whether he had completely misread her behaviour. That would tell him how much of a calamity the situation now was. Thorin, with all his favourite orderliness, reviewed what was known to him. She had come to him, and as she explained, a courtship was to be discussed. Was she intending to propose one to him? It would sure be a bold motion, but if she had perhaps guessed his desire for her, it would be logical. And he did desire her. It was time to admit it. Everything about her enthralled him. Her lively character, her capabilities, her alluring physique… Thorin hastily started stuffing his pipe with the new portion of the weed, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of her round hips, and her heaving chest, but the memories of the ivory skin peeking in the low collar of her tunic, just a few hours ago, stubbornly filled his head.

He puffed out the first ring of smoke and brought his mind back onto the situation at hand. Perhaps, he felt suddenly hopeful, it was much simpler. Perhaps, she did return his affection, but felt it was inappropriate for them to express it outside courtship. She was after all a noble and honourable Khuzd.

And she of course was right. A woman of her standing could not be pursued in such an indecorous manner. Proper respect was to be shown to her. There were customs to be followed, gifts to be given, braids to appear in the hair, for everyone to see… and he could not do either.

Broken off, or not, his former betrothal was an obligation that he had taken upon himself, and as if to confirm to him the error in pursuing Werna, it was none other but her sister he had exchanged letters and gifts for so many years!

And then some stubbornness rose in him. Aye, he had been betrothed to Dania, but she had accepted his declination. And indeed, it was Mahal's quite cruel joke to give his heart to her sister, but such was the truth.

Thorin nodded to his own thoughts. Aye, his affection for Werna, daughter of Lyr, was now an indubitable truth. He searched his mind and had to concede that he was now adamant to seek the answer to whether his love was returned.

Pacified by this certainty, he stretched his legs again, and enjoyed his pipe. Now that the decision was made he only had to decide what was the best way to proceed.

* * *

The next morning, Thorin woke up just after dawn. The house was still asleep, and he rose, threw his coat over his shoulders, and was going to step outside, when he heard the woman stomp in the attic.

Seeing this as a fortunate chance, Thorin quickly slipped out of the hall the company slept in, and walked up the stairs to the attic. He gave the door a quiet knock, and after a pause she let him in.

She stood in the middle of the room, in an awkward, half finished pose, having probably stopped whatever she was doing. Her garments, made to her by Bombur and Bifur out of the fabric given by the Skinchanger, were spread on the bed, and he saw a clothes brush in her hand.

"Morning," she mumbled, and twirled the brush.

"Morning," he answered, and gave her a pleased look over. Her cheeks rosy, she looked so fresh and alluring! "How are you faring?"

"Much better, thank you. I have rested." She was still not meeting his eyes, and Thorin decided it was best to just speak directly to solve this aggravation as soon as possible.

"Shall we sit, Werna? I have matters to discuss with you." She nodded, and walked to her bed, which was the only seat available in the room. She hastily moved her coat, and they sat.

Her eyes were dropped at the brush in her left hand, and he could see a soft cheek and a small burning ear. Thorin looked at her right arm. It was still held under an awkward angle, but he could see it was healing well. The fingers moved, and she splayed her small hand on her knee.

"Werna, I came to confess my affection for you," Thorin pronounced in an even tone, and she whipped her head and stared at him with widened eyes. He had expected this reaction. "I have found myself enthralled by you. It is not a fleeting fascination. And if you have me, I offer you my heart and my loyalty in courtship."

"But..." she breathed out, and then bit into her bottom lip, clearly swallowing the first words that were going to fall off her lips. That was not a reaction he expected. He hoped to see her happy, enamoured, and perhaps a bit relieved, now that the tension between them was addressed, and yesterday's incident was to be clarified. Alternatively, she could reject him now, which would mean he had just turned this quest into an awkward torturous journey that could not end more quickly.

Her nose twitched, and her lips were moving silently as if she were arguing with herself. It was confusing and made something unpleasantly clench in his stomach.

"Werna? You are expected to give me an answer, but if you need more time to consider it..." he started, but she jerked out of her frantic yet silent muttering, and grabbed his hand with her left one.

"No, no I do not need more time! I just..." Their eyes met, and she searched his face. He did not know what she tried to see there, but then she smiled to him widely. "I accept! I accept you, Thorin!"

Thorin was almost ready to unseemingly exhale in relief, when she shifted closer to him, and all he could think of was that now he finally had every right to kiss her. The thought was simple and so very sweet.

So were her lips. He leaned in, and she lifted her face meeting him halfway. Her left hand already in his, he squeezed her fingers and pulled her even closer. Still remembering to be careful with her right side, he pushed the fingers of his left hand into her hair. It was slightly wet, perhaps she had just washed it, and he savoured the heavy silk run between his digits.

She inhaled deeply, drawing his breath in, and then her lips opened, and he lost himself in the kiss. Desire for more was rising, and he wrapped his arm around her. She readily answered, her arm going around his neck, and her body arched into his.

She felt taunt, and limber, and her caresses were energetic and enthusiastic. Her small hands slid first onto his jaw, then to the ears, and then a little rough palm pressed to the side of his neck. When her fingers danced down and she splayed her hand on his chest, slightly scraping in some sort of a feline gesture, he heard a small purr like noise she was making. Werna, daughter of Lyr was clearly no timid dove, as they say, and was obviously enjoying the sensual side of their new association. It was of course expected, she was of Khazad after all, but the ease and some sort of merry vigour of a grown up woman in his arms was more than pleasing.

"You are distracted, my lord," she murmured in his ear, and he chuckled. "Has our tryst bored you already?"

He shifted and met her laughing eyes. He cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb to the corner of her red lips. She tilted her head, pressing her temple and cheekbone to his palm.

"Werna, I have a… favour to ask. Or more precisely, a consideration to share." She gave him a warm look, and he sighed. He had hoped she would accept him, but he also could not forget all the reasons why he had thought this association were not to be pursued in the first place. "I do not wish to insult you, but..." Words stuck in his throat, and he was already prepared to never speak them, when she smiled to him somewhat melancholically.

"You wish our courtship to remain secret," she spoke, and he studied her face trying to determine her opinion on the suggestion. "I agree." Her tone was even, but some sort of unpleasant doubt stirred in him. He pushed it at the back of his mind. "We are in the middle of a quest. And it is no time for dalliances. And…" She was intending to say something else, but then just shook her head. "We will wait till Erebor is returned. Then we will discuss the formal part of it..." she was speaking pensively, not even addressing him, and then she finally focused her mesmerizing, fire opal eyes on him. The corners of her curved lips twitched. "We are not younglings, Thorin. I am certain we will be able to behave just as before. It is not as if we will run into shrubbery for foolish busses..."

Thorin pushed his hand into the thick copper hair at the back of her head and pulled her into a fervent kiss. He had little experience in flirting, but if it were how it was done, then Werna, daughter of Lyr had surely mastered the art of seduction.

* * *

About half an hour later he found himself on her bed, their legs intertwined, hair tussled, hands wandering, and his straying quite often to the full and enticing breasts he had so fortunately discovered under the thin tunic quite quickly after they toppled on the covers.

"We are not behaving like two hundred year olds are to behave..." he rasped out, and she snorted. Her hand was on his side, under the bunched up tunic, and she tickled him, making him squirm.

"I am not that old, my lord..." She giggled, and then pushed her nose under his jaw. "They will say you are an old oxe eating the young grass." He looked down at her, and saw her merrily squinted eyes, the freckled nose, and he felt so light-hearted and content that some uncharacteristic mischief woke up in him, and he rolled her underneath him and gently bit into the ivory skin of her shoulder, where the tunic had slid off. She made an endearing croak like noise.

And then her strong legs wrapped around his waist, making his whole body jolt. She twisted, and there he was, underneath a very smug looking Dwarven maiden.

"And on this point, my lord..." she spoke in a low impish voice. "How do you think a pair of two hundred year olds is to behave in the situation of a secret liaison? Should we solemnly look at each other and discuss the contract that we might utilise when we enter the official courtship some time in the observable future?"

He decided to give her a direct and honest answer, so his hands lay on her buttocks, and he squeezed.

"That is exactly what I thought..." she murmured, leaned in, and caught his mouth.


	29. Open Secret

**Author's Note :**

 **As a birthday present from me to you, I've set up a**

 ***GIVE AWAY of two hard copies of my novel!***

 **In the week of April 23rd to May 1st, follow my writer's Facebook page (facebook dot com slash katyakolmakov) and/or Instagram (instagram dot com slash kkolmakov), and send me a personal message or leave a comment in one or both of these platforms, for a chance to win my book. Messages in both double your chances.**

 **The winner will be chosen by the means of a five years old pulling a name written on a piece of paper out of a top hat :) The books will be signed and mailed to the winners Monday, May 2nd.**

 **Cheers!**

 **Yours truly,**  
 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

Bombur could not wait to have supper, and the delicious smells from the Skinchanger's kitchen were not helping his patience. Tonight it was Dori who was helping Beorn to cook, and judging by the aroma of wild garlic, they were to enjoy Dori's special mushroom stew tonight. Bombur wandered out into the backyard, trying to distract himself.

Several of his companions were outside. Kili was napping in the shadow of a large tree, Fili was once again polishing his blades. Bofur, Bifur, and the Hobbit were playing conkers, having improvised with some large nuts from a nearby tree, which Bombur had never seen before.

Thorin was sitting on a log, while Werna sat on the next one with Oin, who was examining her right arm. She then got up and called Fili for a bit of sparring. The boy eagerly obliged.

"Master Bombur, would you lend me your staff?" she asked then, and Bombur nodded. She brought it from the house, tentatively twirling it in her right hand. It was nice to see his weapon move in her skillful hands. The wrist was clearly still bothering her, though.

"Be careful, Fili!" Thorin suddenly called from his spot. Bombur, who had settled on a small hillock by then, quickly looked at other Dwarves, wondering if they also thought the King honestly should have tried better if he wanted to be more discreet. His worry for the woman was hilariously obvious. Bofur and Bifur threw Thorin what seemed to Bombur like impish looks, and the King hastily corrected himself, "Make sure Lady Werna does not break too many of your bones."

Bombur shook his head in amusement and pulled out a scone from his pocket. Watching the King-in-Exile pretend to be busy with his pipe and not throw looks at Werna's nimble body was a great distraction from the hunger that was tormenting Bombur's body.

The woman was indeed very alluring, and Bombur felt happy for the couple. She was of a good family - a niece of Dain Ironfoot, after all - and Bombur found her character quite agreeable. They were indeed a good match, and as Bombur admired Thorin endlessly, he welcomed this fortunate change. He also found their attempts to keep their courtship hidden quite amusing. He had not noticed until Bofur pointed it out, but once he knew where to look, their glances and as if accidental touches became a great entertainment. It had been about five days, and so far only Dori and Oin bore witness to incidents what could be considered firm proof of the liaison between the King and Werna - Dori saw them hold hands, and Oin swore they jumped away from each other when he walked onto them in the kitchen one day - but no one doubted it was happening. If anything, Balin's beaming, meaningful looks towards them would be a glaring evidence.

Fili swirled, with Oin's staff in his hands, and the blow fell on Werna's left shoulder. She swayed and spat a long string of swearings in Khuzdul. They were in no way lewd, but quite colourful. A sharp cracking sound came from the King, and Bombur turned his head. Whatever Thorin had been whittling had just snapped in his fingers.

"Supper is ready!" the Gondorian announced from the door, and Bombur happily rushed to the house. "Are you hurt, elanor?" the Gondorian asked loudly, stretching his neck to see better.

"Just my pride," she answered laughing, waving her hand at the Man, who grinned back to her. Whether that made Thorin snap something else was unknown to Bombur, as he was already settling at the table in the hall.

* * *

After three courses, when Bombur's ears finally stopped ringing from the devastating famine he had been feeling, he cut himself another slice of cheese, and could finally appreciate the freshly baked bread and the mushroom stew. The others were still eating as well, and Bombur looked around the table with pleasure. He sincerely loved sharing table with his friends, and even the Gondorian seemed like quite a nice chap to him now, although Bombur had hardly approved of him before. The Man was too much of a dark horse.

In front of Lady Werna, closer to the middle of the table, there was a plate of some wonderfully flaky pastries. There had been eighteen of them, Bombur had counted at the beginning of supper, and it was Kili who had eaten two, out of his turn. Bombur very much enjoyed his, the filling was curds, with apples, and cranberries, and the woman - whose pastry was the last one left on the plate - did not like cranberries! They had just had this discussion couple weeks ago with her. He offered her some dried ones he had with him, and she wrinkled her nose, and said the taste did not agree with her. Surely, she did not want the pastry...

Bombur slowly stretched his hand to it, still wondering whether he should ask, but she was absorbed in a conversation with Gloin regarding the copper ore prices, and Bombur did not feel like intruding!

And when his fingers were just an inch away from the golden pastry, he peeked one last time to see whether she might still be interested, and he met the attentive, mocking eyes of the King. Bombur felt rather uncomfortable and jerked his hand back, only to see one of the King's eyebrows crawl even higher. Bombur quickly looked away. And still, she did not like cranberries! She would not enjoy the treat!

"So, you are leaving the day after tomorrow, at dawn?" the Skinchanger asked, and Thorin confirmed.

"And you are still adamant to go through Mirkwood?" the Gondorian asked, picking up a slice of cheese on his fork, and dangling it in the air. "Quite an imprudent move, I have to say."

He was not gifted by an answer from Thorin, but Gandalf said mollifyingly, "We will take the Elven road."

"When was the last time you travelled through those woods, kind sir?" the Gondorian asked mockingly.

"When did you?" Thorin's tone was venomous. The Gondarian looked at him, a small taunting smile on his face. Bombur felt irritation rise. That was no way to talk to a King!

"Just a few moons ago. It was just a small job, to help the people of Laketown to retrieve the barrels that got stuck in the river running through those woods. One thing, for sure, I am only happy I am still alive."

"What are the dangers there?" Lady Werna asked, and the Gondorian looked at her with a smile.

"There are tremendous spiders… And the air is full of some strange fog… And some other animals lurking in the dark." Thorin scoffed, and Bombur picked up another slice of bread and bit into it irked.

"We are aware of those," the woman answered softly. "What else?"

"You are Dwarves, elanor. Is it indeed that wise to go through Mirkwood? I doubt King Thranduil will show you much hospitality."

"We are not travelling to his halls," the Wizard brushed off the concern.

"I am hardly versed in the shared history of your two people, but I remember that one night we spent in an inn on our journey. Do you remember our night, elanor? The inn, the green roof, a cozy fireplace in the solar..." the Gondorian drew out, and someone angrily smashed a mug into the table. Bombur looked. To his surprise, it was not the King - who nonetheless looked completely livid - but the Halfling. Others stared at him too.

Bombur then remembered that it did seem before that the Hobbit had been quite infatuated with Lady Werna, but Bombur hardly paid attention to it. After all, he was to match for her, a Hobbit to a noble Dwarven woman.

"That is… That is completely… inappropriate!" the Halfling blurted out.

"To have a fireplace in a solar?" the Gondorian asked, dramatically widening his eyes in feigned innocent astonishment.

"No!" the Halfling shrieked. "No! Making all these false hints, and imply all these..."

"Bilbo..." Lady Werna's soft voice stopped the Hobbit in his tracks. "Would you pass me the bread, please?"

There was a plate with more slices just in front of her, and Bombur wondered if she was just trying to dissipate the tension in the room.

The Halfling puffed and huffed, yet complied. She picked up a piece and pinched it, without eating.

"If you are referring to that brawl that transpired then, it had nothing to do with Elves," she muttered, her cheeks growing rosier.

"Did you not yell 'Elf lover' before punching that Man and then kicking his shin, my little flame?"

The maiden snorted, and then stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth hastily. The Gondorian looked her over, chuckling quietly.

"Our relations with the Elves are none of your concern, Amrod, son of Mablung. Just as our quest." Thorin's voice was commanding, rage bubbling underneath the cold haughty tone. The dark eyes of the Man shifted on the King, immediately narrowed and unpleasant.

"My friend's well-being is exactly my concern, honourable sir," the Gondorian gnarled, his lips twisted in an enraged line. "If you refuse to see the dangers of this journey, especially for a wounded, I am not going to stand aside and watch you put her in peril and perhaps lead her to her demise!"

The King jumped on his feet, and the Gondorian followed. The legs of his chair screeched on the floor. Bombur put his spoon aside, and quickly wondered where his staff was. The Long-Legged bastard was to be taught a lesson!

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_** , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	30. Inside and Outside

"Enough!" the Master of the House roared, and Fili who was rising stopped in his tracks. "Both of you, out! Let it out! Damn roosters!"

The Skinchanger stepped to the Gondorian and grabbed his collar. The Man was only a head lower, but nonetheless his arms flailed and feet skidded on the floor while the Bearman dragged him to the door.

"You too, Oakenshield! Outside! A good punch up, and back to dinner!"

Fili noted that the Skinchanger did not touch Thorin, just beckoned him with his spade hand. Fili threw a look at Lady Werna, who calmly watched his Uncle jerk off his waistcoat and march to the door.

The entrance door banged, the Skinchanger returned, and plopped back into his giant chair. There was a momentary silence in the hall, and then Balin cleared his throat.

"And as I was saying..." The calm voice of Lady Werna came. "I think we should bring surplus of water, do you not agree, Master Beorn?"

Fili looked around the table. Bombur was frozen on his feet, his hand stretched to the side, probably in search of his staff. Master Dwalin had his hands on the handles of the daggers on his belt, Kili was clenching his fists. Bofur was on his feet as well, just as his brother and the Halfling, who stood with his face flaming, and shoulders shaking. Fili internally cringed. The Hobbit was in most anguish here. Not only he was tormented by his jealousy over Lady Werna's past with the Gondorian, he was now excluded out of the altercation he considered himself a part of. And now it seemed that while two men fought over her attention outside, he was dismissed like a child put in a corner.

"The river is enchanted," the Skinchanger agreed, and nodded stately. "I will give you waterbags. They should last you if you use your supplies wisely."

A loud thud came from outside, and a swearing in Khuzdul rang. The Dwarves, having sat down and picked up their spoons, all turned their heads to the door.

"We will need ropes too," Balin pronounced in an even voice. "In case we need to cross a stream."

The next sound reminded Fili of a woven basket being smashed into a wall. Perhaps, that was indeed what it was.

"I will give you those," the Bearman answered. "More milk, lass?" He lifted a jug, and Lady Werna thanked him and stretched her hand with her mug.

"Oh you half of a lout!.." the Gondorian hollered outside. "That was a low blow!"

"I am low!" Thorin's mocking voice rang triumphantly, and then something heavy bashed into the other side of the entrance door. Fili hoped it was not his Uncle, but somehow he doubted his hopes were reasonable.

"Ullalulkhul!" Thorin roared, close to them now, probably plastered on the boards of the door. Fili thought 'imbecile' was an appellation too mild for the Gondorian, but firstly, Uncle probably was still aware of ladies present, and again, Fili was starting to suspect that both men outside were quite enjoying the brawl.

Another quick glance around the room informed Fili that Lady Werna was pensively licking honey off a large wooden spoon, most Dwarves were eating distractedly, listening to the outside noise, while the Hobbit sat frozen, his eyes feverish, teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

"Usnabul! That is my fighting hand!" Uncle was starting to sound out of breath.

"Then aim lower!" the Gondorian jibed, and then emitted a loud 'ooph' sound. "Not that low!"

"What? You still want sons, Gondorian?" And a body slammed into the entrance door, this time clearly a much taller and danglier one.

"I do!" Gondorian answered and barked a laugh. "And unlike you, I still do not know how long I will have to wait for the right woman. So, aim higher next time!"

There seemed to be a repose in the scuffle outside, and Fili looked at his brother. Kili was pressing his lips trying to keep the snorting down, but Fili knew he would fail quite soon. Fili himself felt his cheeks hurt from trying to suppress a grin. With all honesty, at this stage the only person who was not finding the happenstance entertaining was the poor Hobbit.

"Let my ponies loose at the edge of the woods," the Skinchanger continued speaking, and the Wizard promised to do so earnestly.

Bofur loudly sipped his milk, Lady Werna took some more honey, when the entrance door creaked, and they all looked. The Gondorian stumbled inside, his lips and one cheekbone bleeding, a wide grin tugging at his mouth. He was pressing his right hand under his ribs, and winced when sitting down on his seat. Fili estimated that the Gondorian had been kicked in the shin, and then once Uncle had access to the torso, the famous straight cross blow of Thorin Oakenshield's right finished the job.

The door creaked again, and Uncle came in, looking no less the worse to wear. He hastily wiped his bleeding lip with the back of his hand and took his seat.

Both looked very pleased with themselves, though trying to hide it.

"Honey?" Lady Werna asked, pushing a jar to Thorin, and he lifted one brow at her.

That was Kili's undoing. A giggle rang in the hall, and Bofur's attempts to conceal his snorting behind coughing deceived no one. Even Dwalin seemed to hide a shadow of a smile.

"Aye, please," Uncle answered in a low voice, plenty of meaning weaved into it, and the Hobbit jumped on his feet, and mumbling some excuses he rushed out of the hall.

Lady Werna looked after him and sighed. She then shifted her eyes at Thorin and shook her head. A small smile danced on her lips. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped blood from Thorin's cheek. It had been the most open display of their closeness to date, and Fili watched how his Uncle squinted with pleasure, instead of wincing away or trying to play it down as Fili had expected.

Fili could have been wrong, but it seemed to him that the word he could read whispered on Lady Werna's red lips was 'nudlul.' _Just like a boy._ Fili had to concede, Uncle indeed had been behaving much more youthfully and lively recently. Fili hoped it would persist.

* * *

The dinner concluded, and Dwarves started helping the host with the dishes. Sometime in the middle of carrying dishes and water, Fili noticed that neither Uncle, nor Lady Werna could be seen around, and he smirked, while lathering a cloth.

"What is it, Fili?" his brother asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking about that basket that smacked into the door."

Kili chuckled and placed a pile of bowls into Fili's basin. For an instant they were alone in the kitchen, while others went back to the hall.

"So do you think it is final then?" Kili asked and stepped closer. Fili smirked again. Kili was such a gossip, and a mawkish one for that matter. They all could see what was happening between Lady Werna and Uncle, but they of course pretended to be ignorant. Among other things, a quest was indeed an unfitting circumstance for a romance.

"It seems so." Fili caught the first bowl floating in the soap water and scrubbed.

"But they are not wearing any betrothal beads, and rings do not seem to have been exchanged," Kili whispered and poked the suds with his finger. Fili shook his head.

"Well, they are being discreet. It is their business. I am certain they will announce it once Erebor is ours again." Fili gave his brother a more attentive look and realised Kili was sincerely concerned. "What is it, naddith?"

"I worry. I feel something is wrong… It just seems so odd that Uncle would be… furtive about such matters."

"Perhaps, it is Lady Werna who suggested it. She is a warrior. Perhaps she does not want to seem rattle brained. We are on a journey, and what would you think if they were bussing in shadowy corners?"

A wrinkle lay between Kili's brows, and then he sighed and picked up a cloth as well.

"It still does not feel right..." Kili muttered, and Fili frowned, affected now by his brother's words. Kili, as young and airheaded as he was, had that sort of strange sensitivity. Even as a tot, he seemed to be able to guess what was to come.

* * *

After the dishes were done Fili picked up his pipe and went outside.

The air was cool and fragrant, with fireflies dancing above the grass. He could hear other Dwarves and the Wizard converse loudly inside, behind him, and then singing started.

The strange conversation with Kili would not leave Fili's mind. He smoked and pondered. And then some noise came from the wood shed, and then a quiet silver laugh.

Fili knew he should go back inside, but he stood holding his breath, out of some childish curiosity.

"Eavesdropping, Master Dwarf?" The Gondorian's impish voice came from behind, and Fili whipped his head.

The Man stood leaning on the door frame.

"I was just smoking..." Fili started, and halted. He surely did not want to sound as if he was making excuses.

"Your Uncle is a fortunate man," Amrod drew out, his eyes dropped to the pipe in his hands, long fingers stuffing weed into the bowl. "But not a wise one. Is it a custom for your people to leave one's woman unprotected?" The dark brown eyes shot up at Fili, and the Dwarf felt irritation rise.

"It is a custom of my people to believe that a woman is not a sheep and needs no protection." The Gondorian smirked.

"I am not talking about dragging her wounded into a perilous journey. Here I can see she makes her own decisions. But he does not seem to stake any claim over her… even the Hobbit seems more possessive… Is that how it always is for the Dwarves?" Sincere interest was written on the Man's face.

Fili shifted in unease. The Man's questions were echoed by his own doubts in his mind, but he knew what he was to answer.

"We do not treat women in any way different from men. They are equal and free in their decisions. And we do not _stake any claim_ over our betrothed." Fili added venom into his tone. "They are not cattle."

The Man nodded pensively. Fili felt a sudden urge to rush to his Uncle's defense, even though he knew Thorin needed none.

"And he did crack couple of your ribs for talking disrespectfully to her."

The Gondorian emitted a fruity laugh and licked the broken bottom lip.

"I was not disrespectful, Master Dwarf. It just seems over the years I still have not learnt not to taunt wild beasts. Serves me well. And what a haymaker blow your Uncle has!" The Gondorian clicked his tongue in admiration, and then put his hand on Fili's shoulder. "Come, Master Dwarf, let us smoke inside. If I know anything about love - and I do know a lot..." A wink followed. "It is going to be quite noisy in that shed very soon. And you are too young for those noises!"

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_** , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	31. Muddy the Waters

The woman was sitting on Thorin's lap, facing him, her strong legs wrapped around his waist. The position was very much stimulating. He could see her red lips move, but the buzzing in his head did not let him hear or understand her words.

"Thorin, are you listening to me?" Her tone was scolding, but somehow he could not quite believe in the sincerity of the reproach.

"No," he answered gleefully, and she snorted.

Thorin hissed when she pressed a wet cloth to his cheekbone. The draught stung, but he was mostly putting on airs. Just as he had hoped, she took the cloth off his skin and blew at the bruise.

"I was saying it was ridiculous. I am not judging your desire for a small rumpus, but all the yelling outside… And how did I look in those circumstances?" She shook her head, and a copper curl jumped and brushed his nose.

"Well, since our betrothal as as discreet as flashfire, I would not concern yourself." He smiled to her, and she snorted again.

"It is all your fault." She dabbed another bruise with the cloth and blew again. Thorin watched the lips round softly. "If you had been more restrained, Oin would not have walked on us." When she smiled, little wrinkles ran in the corners of her eyes.

"But of course," he drew out. "That was indeed how everyone found out. And not from Dori who saw you holding my hand."

She emitted a feigned gasp of indignation.

"Holding your hand? I pulled that hand from under my tunic!" She picked up the said hand and shook it in front of his nose. He guffawed.

"It is true." He twisted the hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. "You tempted me."

"I did no such thing!" She jerked her nose up, and he quickly leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Oh but you did… " It felt wonderful to whisper into her skin and feel it brush at his lips. "Your tunics are endlessly revealing." He peeked and saw her lashes flutter, her eyes close, and then she exhaled through rounded lips.

He decided she was dazed sufficiently, and he gathered a handful of orange curls, turned her head, and caught her mouth.

One last thought in his mind was that he could not wait for their wedding night when their caresses would be allowed to go further than the chaste kisses and embraces through layers of fabric, and then the roaring of blood in his ear drowned any thought altogether.

* * *

The next morning they were mounting the Skinchanger's ponies, and he saw Werna stand aside, talking quietly to the Gondorian. The man had to bend significantly, so that their heads were almost touching. Jealousy stirred in Thorin's chest when the man picked up her hand, and covered it with the other palm. The conversation continued for a few more minutes, and then she pulled her hand out and cupped the Man's jaw. A few more words were said, and then she let him kiss her hand and decisively walked to her pony. Thorin asked nothing. He knew he had no right, and yet he felt irked and restless.

The journey towards Mirkwood was dreary, weather dull and growing colder, and just as the Skinchanger and the Gondorian had promised them, the woods that met them bore every sign of danger. And then the Wizard suddenly decided to leave them, and the Hobbit and Werna voiced everyone's concerns.

"You are not leaving us!" the Halfling whined, while Werna stepped to Tharkun.

"Amrod has warned us of the magic in the woods, and the enchanted river, and Mahal knows what else..." Thorin noticed how heavily she was leaning on her walking stick. "Tharkun..."

The Wizard looked down at her, and his face wavered. He then shifted his eyes on Thorin.

"I would not do this unless I had to," he spoke in a grave voice, and Thorin felt irritation rise in him. Whatever their differences, he always felt the Wizard's presence was beneficial for the company.

And yet, they had no choice. They said their goodbyes. Once again Thorin had to press his lips not to rebuke the Wizard harshly for his authoritative tone and as much as giving Thorin an order to not enter the Mountain without him.

As advised before, they tried to stay on the path, on the Elven road, but it weaved between trees, rose and fell, as if purposefully made to confuse and to exasperate. The air was getting muggier with each hour, and Thorin's head swam. He quickly looked back and studied the company, although his eyelids felt heavy. Everyone looked pale and as if oppressed, while Werna's cheeks burnt with feverish blush. He saw her cradle her right arm, although for the past few days it had not seemed to bother her.

The bridge over the enchanted river was of course broken, and Thorin swore quietly. He asked himself whether the forest was affecting them already, since Bofur - quick witted and rarely forgetful - suddenly offered to swim across the stream, although the Wizard had specifically prohibited them from even touching the water.

Thorin sent the Hobbit to climb over the water, thick vines hanging over it, and then with some unpleasant suspicion stirring in his heart, he saw Werna step to the shore, where the Hobbit was pulling at a branch trying to see if it could support his weight.

"Bilbo, please, be careful," she spoke, touching the Halfling's sleeve softly, and Thorin clenched his jaw. Memories from moons ago rushed into his mind. She had kissed the Halfling! She had almost accepted his courtship!

"I will be alright!" The Hobbit huffed his scrawny chest. "It is like climbing apple trees in my garden!"

She stepped back, and he leaped ahead like a rabbit.

* * *

And then Bombur fell into water. If only someone else had! Carrying his massive body slowed them down, and it felt more and more hopeless, as if the woods would never end.

Werna stumbled in front of him, and he stretched his hand to support her, but somehow his fingers grabbed empty air. She landed on her knee, probably on a root, and hissed a swearing between her teeth. The Halfling was near her in an instant, and helped her rise.

"It is nothing… Just these leaves..." she muttered and brushed the dirt off her knees, "Slippery." The Hobbit nodded and straightened out the bag's strap across her shoulder. She smiled to him, and Thorin lost his patience.

"We need to move. Haste!" he barked, and she jerked, and threw him a confused look. He stomped by her to the head of the company.

Hours dragged on and on, seemingly without the light changing, the heavy air filling their lungs and bringing only fatigue.

At some point they sat down on some viscous roots, and Thorin rubbed his face with his hands. The head hurt, in the temples, reminding him of his usual hemicranias.

She came up to him and sat near. It brought relief, and a minuscule of clarity. Without trying to be discreet, he picked up her hand and pressed it to his cheek. Unlike the humid thick air of the woods, her skin was dry and pleasantly warm.

"Thorin..." She was probably intending to argue, but then their eyes met, and she moved into him, hiding her face into his shoulder. He wrapped his free arm around her, and she pushed her hand on his side, and despite the fogginess of his mind he jolted when her fingers snaked under his coat. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, when she winced away.

Dania's portrait was in her hand.

"What is..?" she breathed out, and then looked at him. "What is this, Thorin?" She did not even keep her voice down.

Thorin quickly looked, but it seemed no one was listening on their conversation.

"Werna..." His tone was warning, and she opened the silver case with a clank.

"You kept the portrait..." Her eyes were lowered to the image, and he felt like grabbing it and closing the cursed thing. "All these years..." And then she arrived to the thought that he had feared would be the first one on her mind. "Even now! Now that we are courting..."

Her eyes once again flew up to his face, and just as he expected they were burning now.

"Why do you still have it?" her voice rang unpleasantly, and she shoved the portrait under his nose.

"Werna, it is not the time for this..."

"Is that what I am?" she hissed, finally remembering to keep her voice down. "Am I a lousy replica of your beloved as well? How convenient!" She turned the portrait to him and, as much as he fought it, his gaze fell on the familiar features - the same features he now saw twisted in jealous rage. And then his temper rose.

"What did you want me to do with it? Throw it away? Leave it in the Skinchanger's house?" he whispered venomously, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Anything would be more agreeable, than you keeping it close to your heart." She returned her attention to the portrait, studying it, her lips twisted.

"Werna, this is surely not a good moment for this," he tried reasoning with her again, and she jerked her chin up.

"But of course, my lord." Her voice dripped with poison around the moniker. "I shall leave you to it." She jumped on her feet and threw the portrait onto his lap with disdain.

He opened his mouth to tell her she behaved indecorously, but she was already marching away from him. He noted how unsure her step was. He sighed and got up.

"C'mon, it is time to go," he commended to his warriors, and they started getting up, groaning and complaining.

Before they resumed their moving, Thorin thought he caught the Hobbit's eyes on himself, but when he looked, the Halfling seemed preoccupied with his sack and waterskins.

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Facebook Writer's Page : Katya Kolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **My blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **Rodhina World:**

 **rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca**

 ** _Please, sign up for Project Rodhina Newsletter!_**

Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

 **JukePop: Katya Kolmakov**

 ** _Blind Carnival_** , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

 **Twitter: katyakolmakov**

 **Instagram: kkolmakov**

 **Tumblr: kkolmakov-thorin-ff**

 **Pinterest: Katya Kolmakov**

 **DevianArt: kkolmakov**

* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	32. Spiders and Choices

**Author's Note :**

 **Please (pretty one with chocolate chips and sprinkles), check my writer's Facebook (katyakolmakov), or my blog (kolmakov dot ca) for latest news, updates, and a request regarding my site rodhina dot kolmakov dot ca! :)**

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya kolmakov**

* * *

Bilbo was only grateful that the spiders moved so fast that it allowed him no time to let the terror and disgust sink in. The webs were vicious and the small hairs on them seemed to cut and hook to his skin. He slashed and slashed, and then he saw the first spider fall from his hand, and he stared at the heavy horrific body, and the rows of now glossy eyes. More were coming, and he had to haste.

The Dwarves hung on the branches like some revolting fruit, some twitched, some were still. The monsters were gathering around, poking the cocoons with the furry paws, spinning them, and hissing.

"This one is weak… It is bleeding… I can smell it..." A spider shook one of the cocoons, and Bilbo thought he could see a piece of fabric stick out. It was the dark green cloak that the Skinchanger had given to Werna and Bofur altered for her. "We should eat this one first… fresh..." Panic grasped at Bilbo's heart, but he willed himself to think.

Distracting them by making some noise at the distance was a wise, yet temporary solution, but at least he had time to rush to the viscid bags, and start cutting. He knew he would not be able to support a Dwarf if one was to fall out of the cocoon, and dropping them on the ground would not be the most reasonable line of action. After all, a member of a company breaking his neck falling from a great height after being rescued would be quite impractical.

He knew, though, that he could support Werna's weight. It had been unfortunately determined in the Goblin Caves.

She fell into his arms, coughing and making small weak noises. She was pale and drowsy.

"Werna, Werna..." He shook her, and her eyes opened slowly. "Werna, you need to help me to free others." She nodded weakly, and rubbed her face. He gave her a worried look over. There were blood stains on her right arm again, he assumed the wounds had opened again, and there was a green tinge to her skin. She groaned and rose onto her feet on the branch.

"It stung me..." she muttered. "One of them… It is the soporific… I was to be eaten first, because I am bleeding, they worried I would die too early..."

Together, they started taking other Dwarves off, cutting the main thick thread holding the cocoon, laying them down, and freeing them, Bilbo with his newly named sword, and Werna with her long dagger Fili had given to her. It seemed that Werna was the only one poisoned, others were battered and somewhat suffocated, but they could get up and help as well. Soon, the work went faster, as all of the Dwarves were helping, while Werna sat aside, drinking water from the skin Dori passed to her.

When only Gloin and Nori were left hanging, Bilbo heard approaching noise.

"They are coming back!" Bilbo hissed, and the Dwarves rushed to the two remaining cocoons.

"Thorin, they are fast. We will not outrun them!" Bilbo exclaimed. 'At least Werna will not,' he thought. He threw her a quick glance. She stood leaning onto the tree. He could not understand at first what she was doing, but then he realised she was swiftly binding her wound. It was wise - a blood trail would make their escape even more trialing.

"We still have our weapons, we will fight," Kili announced, and Bilbo threw him an irritated look. Much good it did them before.

* * *

They indeed fought; and contrary to his previous concern, Bilbo himself - not the Dwarven maiden - was in quite a predicament here. He quickly realised that his previous kill was nothing but a fortunate happenstance, while with her battle axe - even just one, and in her left - Werna was still deadly.

At least, at the beginning, while she still had strength, but Bilbo - his back pressed to a tree and nothing but watching left for him - could see her slowing down. Fili and Kili were fighting near her, but Bilbo could see the ring of the monsters to lock around them more and more tightly.

Panic rose. He considered giving her the ring, but she would hardly use it wisely, he immediately thought. She would rush back into the fight, instead of shrewdly saving herself.

He then saw her waver and miss a blow from a spider. A repugnant paw, with a long black claw at the end, slashed across her right shoulder, and she emitted a cry.

"Werna!" Thorin dashed towards her, cutting the spider's legs a foot above the ground, with a disgusting crunch and squelch, and Bilbo saw her heavily lean into the King. She whispered something, and he angrily rebuked her in the Dwarven language.

"Bilbo, hold her!" Thorin yelled, and Bilbo rushed to the two of them. She weakly protested, but Thorin was already barking some orders. The Dwarves regrouped, forming a wall between where Bilbo and Werna stood, and the new wave of spiders approaching them.

"Take her away! C'mon!"

Bilbo met Thorin's eyes, and nodded.

"I can still fight..." she muttered stubbornly, but Bilbo was already dragging her aside. The axe she held in her hand was scraping at the ground, covered in fallen leaves and twigs.

* * *

And then the Elves came. Bilbo by then had found a tree hollow, and was trying to stuff the stubborn Dwarf inside.

"I am not a squirrel kitten, Bilbo!" she hissed at him in irritation.

"No, you are a stroppy Dwarf who would not listen. You are in no shape to fight!" Fear and worry for her were making him impudent.

"Let me decide if..." she started, but he pressed his hand over her mouth.

The Skinchanger had been right: these Elves were quite a different matter compared to their Rivendell cousins. Bilbo watched them dispose of the remaining beasts, and surround the company. Werna was quiet near him, her eyes widened, and he could feel her take careful breaths in. Bilbo silently thanked Maiar for her acumen. One whisper or careless inhale - and they would be caught as well.

The Elves quickly tied their prisoners, and lining them up they started leading them away. Bilbo turned to Werna, his hand still pressed over her lips.

"I will follow," he whispered, almost inaudibly, and she watched his lips move. "I will see where they are going. You stay here." She frowned, but sensibly made no sound.

He took a step away from her, took a deep breath in, and pulled the ring out of his pocket. Some unpleasant feeling scraped at his mind - perhaps, the desire to keep his secret hidden, and some sort of jealousy and greed, but then he met her slanted bright eyes, and the decision came easily. He showed her the ring, holding it between the thumb and the index finger - she gave him a questioning look - and then he slid it on his middle finger.

He had to admit her composure was admirable. She did not squeak or gasp, and just continued staring at where he stood, her pupils dilated, eyes seemingly twice the usual size. Her lips parted slightly, and then he saw her mouth his name. He took the ring off and pointed to where the company was going. There was no time to lose, but thankfully she was fast and just nodded to him.

He slipped the ring on his finger again and started stealing after the Elves and Dwarves. It was hardly difficult. For the Elves, the captors moved surprisingly loudly, and the clanking and rustling coming from the Dwarves sounded almost deafening to Bilbo.

Soon they arrived to a tall stone bridge over a river - the same enchanted one, Bilbo assumed - and Bilbo saw large gate doors on the other side. Just as the whole forest, the Elvenking Halls had an oppressive air to them, none of the light grace of the Rivendell dwellings.

The Dwarves were herded inside, surrounded by the guards, the tall red haired woman in the lead, and an imposing blonde Elf, carrying Thorin's sword, at the rear end.

And then the gates started closing, and Bilbo's mind raced. He of course should have rushed in, there was a chance he would never have such opportunity again, but the thought of leaving Werna behind, alone, wounded, in the forest full of those blood-thirsty monsters, and with no supplies but one waterskin and some cheese in her bag filled him with dread. He tried to remember whether any of the provision bags had been left behind by the company, and then he almost slapped himself to the forehead. It was surely not the time to be distracted.

He rushed after the company, and whisked by the blonde Elf at the very last moment. As much as he worried, he had his obligations before the company, and as much as he lamented his choice, he was the burglar of the company of Thorin Oakenshield. He needed to find a way to free them, and he pushed the thought of the woman he loved stranded in the suffocating dimness of Mirkwood at the back of his mind.


	33. Bilbo Strikes Pay Dirt

**Author's Note :**

 **Have you checked out my webserials on JukePop dot com? :) _Blind Carnival_ (its first two chapters were written here as a prompt in #14 and #15 in _We Are Scattered in Time and Space_ ) is finished, and I'm posting an epilogue to it this Thursday. But wait for it... with the teaser for my new webserial (to be updated every Thursday)! This time it's again a humorous take on a harlequin novel and erotica, but this time with ghosts. Dark haired, blue-eyed, possibly bearded, six feet four ghosts ;)**

 **I'll post the teaser for it in** ** _We Are Scattered in Time and Space_ on Thursday. Stay tuned :D**

 **Best,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

After seemingly countless hours of creeping and sneaking in the Halls of the Elvenking, which included overhearing the conversation of the said Elvenking - Bilbo would still think back at the Elf's ostentatious garment and shake his head - and then two run-ins with the guards - through which Bilbo would try to melt into the nearest wall and abandon the unnecessary habit to breathe - he finally found the dungeons containing the cells with the company. Coming closer would be unreasonable, they were heavily guarded, so he set on achieving the only thing all his hungry and shaking self desired. He needed to find a way out back into the woods. In front of his mind's eyes he kept on seeing Werna, bleeding out and possibly dying, surrounded by the terrifying beasts, and he would clench his jaws and hasten.

Finally, in the rooms that seemed to surround a large kitchen, he found what he was looking for. He did not dare to go into any of the pantries or into the kitchen itself as they were crowded and noisy, some sort of big preparations happening. Elves rushed back and forth through passages, and Bilbo felt that even without the ring he would hardly be noticed. Everyone seemed busy, and everyone seemed to have an emergency to attend to.

A room that finally gave Bilbo a hope was a rubbish chamber. Large bags of some rancid scraps and muck stood in rows along the walls; there were bins and crates, and in the wall opposite to the small door Bilbo sneaked through, he saw a hatch that surely was nothing but a garbage chute. Bilbo opened it and looked. Inside he saw a sturdy bottom, and looking around he found a wheel that controlled the descend and the return of the elevator.

There was of course a chance that the chute deposited the debris directly into the enchanted river. Bilbo needed to be careful, and he needed to think. A half an hour search and pondering left him with a rope secured around the wheel, and him sitting in the chute in the company of couple bags, containing - judging by the smell - potato peels, at least three days old, for that matter. Bilbo assumed if the chute moved and someone saw it, couple bags falling out of it would pacify the observer.

* * *

The wheel was turning, the rope was creaking, and Bilbo - the rope burning his hands, which he hardly noticed - was sitting in the small wooden elevator, trying not to imagine the terrors he would see in the woods, and failing. He had had no opportunity to procure any food or clean water in the Halls, and he was wondering what he could do once - or if - he reached Werna. Bilbo was a Hobbit of sound judgement: he knew he could hardly hunt, or fight, and were they to be attacked, Werna would have just as much chance to survive as without him.

The chute stopped abruptly, and the bags sloped onto him. Bilbo cringed and pushed them away with his elbow. The bottom of the elevator did not open, and he assumed the bags were to be unloaded manually. Which meant there was an exit.

Trying to move quietly, he pushed and tugged, and finally one of the walls gave in, and a small hatch opened. Bilbo looked around. The dimness of the woods turned into thick, menacing dark by then, but he could still clearly see that he was sitting in the middle of a giant compost crate. The door he opened from inside had a rope going from its handle towards the edge of the compost crate and probably served for dumping the rubbish sacks into the crate.

Crawling through piles of half rotten, soft, and viscous leftovers of many Elven feasts, might have been one of the most repugnant experiences Bilbo could recall. He would slip and fall, and rise and slip again. After a while his nose had given up, and he at least was not anymore bothered by the smell. It was not that nauseating, to think of it, just earthy and poignant. But Bilbo was hungry and overtired to start with, and his head swam.

Finally, his feet touched the ground, and he leaned his back onto the nearest tree trunk. He gave himself till he counted to fifteen, and then he forced himself to walk. He knew not where to, but he decided he should rely on his hearing and his nose that was slowly regaining its capabilities. Once he was hidden from any potential viewer in the Elven Halls, he pulled the Sting out of its scabbard. It did not shine, but Bilbo felt just a tad better when a rare ray of bleak moonlight would dance on the blade.

* * *

The woods seemed silent and ominous, and Bilbo moved silently through them. And then, just a second before something cold pressed to his throat, he heard a subtle whizz of a blade sliding out of a sheath.

"Bilbo?" Werna's voice rang gleefully, and he realised that it was her long dagger that just a second ago had been at his throat and now was hastily lowered. "Bilbo!"

A pair of strong arms wrapped around him, and she pressed him into herself.

"I was so worried for you!" She kept her voice down, but he could hear the relief and joy in her voice. "Mahal help me, you are so smelly!" She released him and chuckled. "What have you been doing there, my dear Hobbit?"

Bilbo looked her over. She stood just a step away from him now, smiling widely to him. He could see her axes strapped to her back, the dagger in her right hand, the arm bandaged neatly. On her shoulders he saw Thorin's cloak, and Fili's waterskin was on her belt.

"I… I got out to find you..." he answered weakly, and then - as if to make him look even less impressive - he swayed, and she supported him grabbing his shoulders.

"Oh my poor darling, you are hardly standing," she murmured, and then her arm wrapped around his shoulder, and she started leading him somewhere aside.

* * *

She had set up a camp, just a few feet deeper into the woods, away from the eyes of anyone in the Halls. Bilbo recognised the bags of provision and waterskins that Beorn the Skinchanger had given them, and that the Dwarves had dropped, probably when attacked by the spiders. She had picked them up, as well as their ropes, and Bilbo froze on the edge of the small clearing. The ropes were hanging from trees and were tied around a stake in the middle of the circle of the bags. The Dwarven maiden had made - simply speaking - a cobweb.

"I took example from our dear hosts," she whispered, laughter weaved into her voice. "That was how I knew you were coming. I just did not expect it to be a shepherd's pie made of a Hobbit." She chuckled again and handed him a waterskin and some of the cheese and dried bread from a bag. "Eat. And tell me what you found out."

Bilbo gave up any hope to be a hero in this situation, plopped on the ground, and sank his teeth into the food.

* * *

"Did you find a way out of the dungeons?" Werna asked after having listened to his report. She was gnawing at the mouthpiece of her unlit pipe.

"There is a feast going on in the Halls. And I think I have an idea how the company can escape."

Bilbo was now feeling much better, from the food and clean water in his stomach, and especially from the view of her sitting near him, her legs crossed. She looked calm, warm, and much less weary. Bilbo realised he had been staring at her in admiration and possibly adoration only when she met his eyes and gave him a questioning look.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

"I… I am... just relieved to see you."

She smiled to him gently and suddenly stretched her hand to his face. He held his breath, expecting her warm fingers to brush at his cheek, but she picked up something from his hair, and he saw a long curl of a potato peel bob in her hand.

He could not hold back a snort, especially after she purposefully shook the peel again, making it spring up and down. She made a soft chuckling noise as well, and Bilbo realised how close they were sitting. Her beautiful slanted eyes were squinted, and his gaze dropped at her bright red lips.

He realised she was now watching him too, holding her breath, her eyes widened. And then she blinked and moved away from him.

"Do not be offended, Bilbo..." she spoke, hiding the momentary awkwardness behind a forced joke.

"But I smell of Elven rubbish," he finished her sentence, both of them giving out an unnatural laugh. "Understandably. So… What now?"

* * *

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Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

 _Updated_ _every Saturday!_

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 ** _Blind Carnival_** , a parody on romance/erotic novels

 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

 _Updated every Thursday!_

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

 **{my first novel**

 **inspired by the story initially written here}**

 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	34. Cold Fish

As it was agreed, Bilbo crawled back into Mirkwood Halls. He would of course have preferred a more dignified, and less foul-smelling, development of his and Werna's situation, but it seemed he was destined to once again acquaint himself with the Elven litter.

He then sneaked into some sort of a bathroom, perhaps a room used for laundering cloths and curtains, since there was water and soap. He had rightfully assumed that even with the invisibility ring, at this stage he would not go unnoticed considering the potent stench coming off him. He quickly cleaned up and ventured down into the dungeons.

He hardly expected wordy gratitudes and compliments, but the grumpy and demanding disposition he was met with still irked him a bit. Even if saving the company was the part of his vocation as the burglar, surely, a simple 'thank you' would not tarnish the King's majesticness, and more compliance from other Dwarves would certainly help as well. Instead, they argued in choked hush voices, griped, and tried to choose the direction of their escape, although Bilbo had explored the way they attempted to go to, and knew there was no exit there.

Finally, he managed to herd them and convince them that down was indeed the right way. One by one they started walking, and when the King - the last in the line - was near Bilbo, he grabbed his arm, squeezing it painfully.

"Where is Werna?" he hissed at Bilbo.

The Hobbit opened his mouth to reassure him, but some sort of Tookish stubbornness woke up in him. Perhaps, the Dwarf could be taught a lesson. As ignorant as Bilbo was in the Dwarven traditions, he could see that the association between Thorin and Werna was not going the usual way. Bilbo had overheard a conversation between Balin and Gloin, who were ruminating between the two of them why the King would try to keep his betrothal to the Dwarven maiden in secret. Everyone knew of course, but Werna herself had told Bilbo long time ago that there were rituals, and customs, and apparently none were now followed. Bilbo had of course accepted Werna's choice - he had hardly even though there was a choice to make as he never considered that he had any chance to win her affection - but he would not stand for the woman he cared for to be mistreated!

He twisted out of Thorin's grip and followed the company downstairs.

"We need to hurry. The guards will awake soon..." he threw to Thorin over his shoulder, and saw the Dwarf's dark and worried face. Bilbo thought it would serve the Dwarf just right.

* * *

Soon all the Dwarves were stuffed in barrels like pickles for over winter preserving, and Bilbo pulled the lever. Getting out himself posed another problem, but soon it was solved as well, when he plopped into the water in the most ungraceful way.

The barrels moved down the stream, Dwarves paddling with their hands, and Bilbo hanging to one of them for dear life.

He did not expect the escape to go perfectly smoothly, but a band of Orcs that met them at the back gate was quite an unpleasant surprise. And after that it was all a blur: the fight between Orcs and Elves, Kili being shot, his brother's worried face, and then the gate finally opening, releasing them, into the white, as if boiling water of the river. He could only remember how Werna showed up from the shrubs where she had been hiding upon their agreement, two Orcs falling from under her blades, and her graceful springy jump into an empty barrel.

When they finally fell out of their barrels, coughing and spitting water, Bilbo saw Thorin drag Dori and Nori, help Fili, and only then rush to Werna who was inspecting Kili's leg. The King grabbed her shoulder, she turned, and they embraced. The company turned away to give them some privacy, and Bilbo did as well, his eyes on the clear water of the river; but not before he saw how tense and reserved the faces of the couple were. Something unpleasantly stirred in Bilbo's mind.

* * *

Bilbo did not approve of the plan to go to Laketown. To be precise, he did not approve of the Man they had chosen to be their guide, of the idea of a stop in a town of the Long Ones, and he surely did not approve of the town itself. In short, the whole happenstance made him apprehensive and he would prefer to leave it as soon as possible. It was damp and smelled of fish, which Bilbo preferred only in one form - nice and crisp, with thyme, and a side of boiled potatoes.

Nonetheless, he sincerely thanked the family of the bargeman, and wrapped himself in the rags he was given. The fire was crackling in the heath, and he was offered a hot beverage. Perhaps, there was still hope for him to survive this ridiculous adventure, he thought. Werna sat near him, and bumped her shoulder to him.

"How are you feeling, Bilbo?" she asked softly, and he sniffled. He was feeling rather miserable and even more pessimistic than usual regarding their predicament, but he doubted she wanted to hear his outlook at the situation at the moment.

"Quite alright, thank you. And you?" he asked, and immediately worried about her wounds and whether they had opened in the cold turbulent stream.

"Quite alright myself," she said, a smile dancing in her eyes. "That was a clever idea, Bilbo. You got us out." Bilbo felt flattered, and hid behind his usual self-deprecating humour.

"Technically, you were already out. It was the company, that needed to be… outed." She snorted.

"And I bet you received no gratitude for it." She dramatically shook her head in feigned mournfulness. "Well, you should know you have mine in full." She then patted his shoulder affectionately.

They sat in quiet, enjoying the warmth coming from the fireplace. Bilbo was also discreetly watching Thorin and the man converse, discussing their plans. Apparently, the bargeman had promised them safe passage out of the town and weapons.

"I do not like it..." Werna whispered, and Bilbo turned to her.

"Do you think the man is untrustworthy?" he asked. He himself did not have an opinion on the bargeman.

"I do." Bilbo saw Werna twist her lips. "I am worried for his family. Clearly, the town authorities would not approve of him helping us, since he is bringing us in such secrecy. He has children to take care, of course he agreed on it for silver. But what if we are found?"

Bilbo felt like reminding her that nothing brings back luck quicker than voicing it out, and he was as right as ever. They were found, they were dragged out, into the square full of people, and since they were found while robbing the town armoury, they looked as guilty as a vixen in a chicken house.

Luckily - and to Bilbo's utter astoundment - Thorin could be charismatic when circumstances required. Quite quickly the whole town was taken by his authoritative manner, and perhaps even more so, by his promises of gold and gems, and overall prosperity coming to Laketown. And in a few hours the company and Bilbo found themselves invited to a feast. Bilbo only hoped that the townsfolk cooked something besides fish because Bilbo felt as if he had not smelled anything else for the longest time.

* * *

The feast was held in a large hall, adjoin to the Master's house, and the tables were crowded with dishes and wine jugs, and it seemed that everyone of importance was invited, including the captain of guard who had arrested them. The guests, of course, did not include Bard the bargeman. Bilbo wondered if anyone else felt that it was unjust, and if anyone else found the whole matter somewhat repulsive. Bilbo approved of revels and festivities of any sort - especially involving copious amount of food - just as much as the next Hobbit, but he felt uneasy to be celebrated by the people who just a few hours ago had clearly been feeling like locking them up or even perhaps executing, while the only person who had come to their aid when they had needed it was now considered ill-favoured.

Bilbo was quickly distracted from his brooding thoughts by Werna's appearance. Through the last few days, with all the worry, dirt, darkness, and potato peels, he had quite forgotten how alluring she was. And now, with her hair washed and intricately braided, in a dress, probably borrowed from a girl of Men, with a colourful shawl on her shoulders, she stepped into the hall and gave him a radiant smile. Even in this attire, some much simpler that her warrior outfit she had worn the first day in his house, she looked fresh, and elegant, and stately.

Soon the company took seats at the table, and only the wonderful smell of roasted pork and vegetables could divert Bilbo's attention from where she sat between him and Dori. The fact that it was not next to the man she was betrothed to did not escape Bilbo's mind.

The company ate, and the toasts followed, monotonous and repetitive, confirming the union between the soon-to-be returned Dwarven Kingdom and the town of Men, and the Master made hints, and Thorin ignored them, eating and drinking. Soon music started, and unlike the tedious colourless Elven wailing - which Bilbo had been looking forward to from the comforts of his home, and found quite irritating in Rivendell - this one sounded like something Hobbits would enjoy at their celebrations. There was a jig, and something akin to longways, and even a reel. Bilbo's foot was tapping on the floor, and suddenly Werna kicked him sensitively under the table.

He opened his mouth to apologise for the annoying fiddling, but she suddenly leaned to him and hissed, "Ask me to dance."

"What?" Something quietly squeaked inside him.

"I want to dance, but no one will dare to ask me. Please?" She quickly looked at him, and he gathered his courage, climbed off the chair too high for him, and stretched his hand to her. And soon they joined the couples joyfully swirling in the center of the hall.


	35. The Fire in Which We Burn

Thorin drank wine and watched his company revel. They had deserved the rest and the festivities. Although Thorin would prefer to continue their travels faster, he understood that after everything they had endured, they just wanted to forget about Orcs, giant spiders, and what was waiting for them in the mountain. And Thorin perhaps would have been able to put his restlessness aside and enjoy the merriment, if not for the spectacle he had in front of his eyes.

Werna danced with Bilbo in the center of the hall. Once the first dance was over, Bofur had stepped to her, and she accepted his invitation with a small bow and a radiant smile. And then two more dances followed, both with the Halfling, and although Thorin did not doubt her in any way, jealousy stirred in his heart. He sipped more wine, and tried to concentrate on the rambling from the Master of the Laketown.

"No one will judge you if you cut in, laddie," Balin suddenly whispered into his ear, and Thorin whipped his head. The old warrior's eyes were twinkling with mischief.

Thorin kept silent, but now his eyes would stray to the dancing couple more and more often. And then she laughed, while the Hobbit twirled her, and the cascade of the fiery curls wavered, and Thorin saw shiny the green eyes, and her red mouth stretched in a wide grin, and he realised he was clenching the goblet in his hand.

Thorin asked himself what it was that was stopping him from getting up and going to her. After all, their association had not been secret for the longest time, and he felt nothing but pride and joy at the thought that she was his betrothed. Once the decision had been made in his mind - in the Skinchanger's house - he had not had a single moment of doubt that she was the woman he loved, and that was her he wanted to see near him till it was time to face his Forefathers, and beyond, in the Halls of Mahal.

There was only one detail in their current betrothal that worried him. He had asked her to keep it discreet, as in his mind he still needed to talk to her sister and ask her forgiveness before his marriage to Werna could feel untarnished. The question that started tormenting his mind, two days after the conversation and the kisses they had exchanged, was why it was that she had agreed.

He was hardly a sensitive man, but her moods and her state mattered to him, that was of course, when they were not in the imminent danger to be beheaded or devoured. There was melancholy hiding in her eyes, and now Thorin worried that she felt he was ashamed of her, or was having second thoughts. He once again cursed the lack of eloquence in him. He was no poet to weave some compliments, and pour honey into her ears. When they would have one of the sparse moments alone, he felt tongue-tied, and as much as he would prepare to talk to her, to confirm his noble intentions towards her, he would forget everything near her, and all he cared about was to hold her close, and find her lips, and delight in her love and her passion.

He once again caught himself watching her attentively, and an instant before he forced himself to shift his eyes, he noticed a small wince from her. She was obviously favouring her right side, and her cheeks burned feverishly.

Concern rose in her - for her wounds - and he decided he needed to act. He threw aside any thoughts of how indecorous it would be for him to leave mid-conversation with the Master, and approached Werna and the Hobbit.

"May I?" he asked, and the Halfling stepped back. The next tune started, and she smiled to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. He picked up the small strong hand, and squeezed her fingers.

"Could we leave, please?" he asked softly, and her eyes widened. She nodded silently, and he walked out of the hall, leading her by her hand, her fingers lying in his trustingly. And he just could not care less what others thought of him at that moment!

* * *

They stepped into the backyard, and he turned to ask her of her injuries, when she pressed into him flush and caught his mouth. He swayed, from the force of her attack, but blood rushed to his ears in an instant, and he grabbed her and pulled her in even closer. A raspy lustful moan fell off her lips, and he lost all sense.

Her lips moved, demanding and greedy, and he growled, and shifted, pushing her backwards. Her back slammed into a wall, and she whimpered. The sound sobered him a tad.

"Werna… I worried..."

She twisted her neck, and her hot mouth brushed to his throat, below the beard, making a shudder run through his body. Their caresses had been sensual before, but never went further than passionate busses, and hands wandering the other's body through clothes. Her actions now seemed quite heated compared to what they had indulged in before.

"You have nothing to worry about…" she muttered, and he felt her even white teeth nip at his skin. "Surely, you are not jealous..."

"Werna… What came over you?" he mumbled, fighting the deafening roaring of blood in his ears, and the endlessly pleasurable sensation of heat licking the back of his neck.

"Nothing much," she giggled. "I have missed you..."

Thorin wanted to give in - to forget everything and just enjoy her. Her confident caresses, her hot little palms that slipped under his doublet and were bunching up his tunic, her legs she pressed to his - he craved all of it, but he clenched his teeth, and gently placing his hands on her upper arms, he moved her away and looked into her eyes. Just as he suspected, the fire opal irises burnt, the pupils immense and bottomless.

"Werna, you are ill. How are your wounds?"

She looked taken aback and disappointed.

"Is that what matters now?" she asked, pouting.

"It is to me. Have you had anyone look at your wounds?"

"A healer from Men did. I went to the infirmary with Kili." Thorin did not trust the Men and their medicine, but he was glad Kili was cared for. "They bandaged me, and gave me herbs. Could we stop talking about this dull affair?" she asked, stepping to him again, her hands on the clasps of his waistcoat.

"And what did the healer say?" He picked up her hands, and seeing how displeased she was he pressed them to his lips, hoping to mollify her. She frowned and kept quiet. "Werna?" She made a scornful sound, pulled her hands out of his, and stepped back to a bench by the wall.

"The healer told me to go to bed. He said I lasted that long purely out of stubborness." She jerked her chin up, challenge in her eyes.

"Werna! What sort of childish foolishness is this?! You should rest before..." He did finish, as she emitted a growl, and marched inside by him. "Werna! Do not dare going back to dancing!"

That was clearly a wrong thing to say and a wrong tone to take with her. She had already disappeared behind the doors, but then they flung open again, and she was back. Her cheeks were flaming.

"You have no right to tell me what to do!" she hissed at him, thank Mahal, keeping her voice down despite her unreasobale state. "You are not even my betrothed, for all intents and purposes! And none would be allowed to order me around anyway!"

That was, of course, the opportune moment to clear the air, and make those colourful declarations, and confirm that he was indeed her future husband for any intents and purposes. And Thorin knew it, since he was not an imbecile. But she was ill and would not listen to reason! And he was no boy to be bullied into certain behaviours!

"I am the leader of your company, and I am telling you to have rest, or you are not continuing this journey with us tomorrow morning!" His tone came out even more authoritative and threatening that he had intended.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. She looked so offended and upset that he expected tears to roll onto her feverish eyes, but instead she pursed her lips and narrowed the eyes at him.

"Very well… my lord," she venomously gritted the moniker through her teeth. "I will obey and will go to bed, while adults revel and drink and make merry."

She twirled on her heels, and Thorin cringed when the doors banged behind her.

* * *

 **Don't miss the next chapter posted right away!**


	36. The Keyhole

**Don't miss the previous chapter! I posted two today!**

 **Cheers,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

Thorin entered the infirmary, just before dawn. Kili slept, awkwardly tucked in a berth too long for him. Thorin was painfully reminded of the time when Kili as a child had been running a horrid fever and they feared for his life. His face was now as ashen, sweat glistening on his temples.

"We do not know what it is," a healer told Thorin, bent in a respectful half bow. Everyone treated them with some sort of cloy reverence, and Thorin felt anger rise. "Perhaps, it is being in cold water right after the injury."

Thorin watched his sister-son for a few minutes and went back to the rooms they were placed.

Half of the company was wandering the halls, gathering their bearings after the revel of the last night. Thorin beckoned Fili who was organising his swords and knives.

"Kili will not travel with us. He is ill, and he will slow us down. We only have a day left."

"But, Uncle..." Fili started. Thorin noted that Fili had just interrupted him, perhaps, for the first time in his life.

"I will leave Oin with him. I do not trust the healers here."

"I will stay as well," Fili said in a low voice.

"Fili, you belong with the company."

"I belong with my brother," the young man sneered and quickly left, probably heading to the infirmary.

Thorin snarled. He had just lost yet another capable warrior. They knew not what was in the mountain! And Fili knew nothing of wounds and medicine! Oin had been the wise choice, while still a sacrifice, since the old man was a seasoned fighter. Now Thorin would have to give up three swords, even before he was to face a serpent.

Or perhaps he was to give up four, since Mahal only knew what state the woman was in.

"Where is Werna?" he asked looking around.

"She is with the Halfling. They went that way," Bombur answered, waving towards a back door.

Thorin decided that the fact that she might be another one to be left behind due to wounds was an excuse enough to barge in.

* * *

The two of them stood very close to each other, whispering, their foreheads almost touching. Both were fully dressed for the travel, and she looked much less feverish than the night before. Thorin praised himself for sending her to bed, pushing the thoughts of the rest of the conversation they had had at the back of his mind.

"... please, Bilbo, you have to listen to me!" she raised her voice, her tone pleading, and the Hobbit opened his mouth to answer, but then noticed Thorin, and closed it sharply. She turned, and her eyes met Thorin's. He did notice how the expression in them changed from tender and upset, to an irked one.

"My lord," she greeted him, and the tone was cold. The Halfling looked between them, and then uneasily shifted between his feet.

"I will go take my belongings to the boat," he mumbled and left the courtyard, squeezing by Thorin, trying not to brush the Lakemen clothing - which looked preposterous on him - to Thorin's coat.

Apparently, not wishing to stay alone with him, Werna attempted to follow the Hobbit.

"Werna," Thorin softly called after her, and halted her placing his hand on her upper arm. He once again lamented his lack of eloquence. She stopped, pressed her lips, and exhaled noisily. The fact that she was not moving gave him hope. He searched for the right words. None came. "How are you faring today?" The question sounded uncertain, and he felt like cringing from the weakness of his voice.

She jerked her face up, the slanted eyes burning with anger, and he saw bright red lips part, no doubt to give him a scorching remark. And then he saw her face soften.

She stepped to him and cupped his face with her hand. Thorin felt his breath hitch from surprise. He thought she was displeased with him! He did not know how to mend it, and with all honesty he knew not what how they had ended up in this predicament, and who was at fault - but a loving warm smile and her eyes roaming his face was the opposite from the behaviour that he had expected from her.

"Do not worry, my King. I have recovered sufficiently." She leaned in and quickly kissed his lips. Before he had time to gather his bearings and answer to her caress, she was gone.

Thorin decided to go back to his previous plan - to reclaim Erebor, and only then sort out women in his life - considering that the second endeavour would probably show itself much more taxing.

* * *

They walked up the hidden staircase, Thorin's eyes straying to the profile of his grandfather again and again. The former lands of his people - now desolated and lying in ruins - made his heart hurt.

And then the time seemed to hasten, as if a curse lay on them: the day ended, and the light of it faded, and with it the - hope. They had failed. All of what they had been through had been for nothing.

"What did we miss? Balin?" His voice was coarse and disobedient.

"Thorin…" he heard the woman softly exclaim, but he could not even look at her.

"We've lost the light. There's no more to be done. We had but one chance. Come away, lads. It is over," Balin answered.

Thorin just could not seem to take a breath in. His chest tightened, and hands shook. He took his body under control, clenching his teeth, not letting tears rush. He saw the company's pale confused faces, and he turned away from the cursed wall, letting the key slip out of his hand. Now, it was nothing but a trinket.

"Wait a minute! Where are you going?" the Halfling started as much as dashing between the company.

"Thorin, you cannot leave now..." Werna chimed in, and Thorin threw her a dark look.

"You cannot give up! You cannot give up now!" the Hobbit pleaded to him. Thorin was already by the stairs, when Werna grabbed his sleeve, trying to look into his eyes.

"Please, Thorin, we cannot just leave…" Thorin ignored her, and the Halfling's squawking, and then she pulled at his arm harder, "Listen to him, Thorin!"

Rage rose, and Thorin grabbed her arm in return.

"Either stay here with him..." Some strange pain bloomed between his ribs, and he could hardly recognise his own strangled voice. "Or you are leaving with me."

Werna's face wavered, and he saw her eyes mist.

"Thorin..." He guessed by the movement of her lips that she whispered his name, and then she lowered her face in defeat. "I am leaving with you."

"Werna, please!" the Halfling called after her, and Thorin sneered.

They were already on the stairs, the company had started its descend, only Balin waiting for him on the top. The realisation of what he had just lost was washing over him - the Kingdom, the Arkenstone, the throne, Werna… He would not become the King, he would not marry a niece of Dain Ironfoot, he would not unite the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms… He had allowed himself hope, and that was his punishment! Thoughts thrashed, tangling, and he almost pressed his hands to his temples, but he condoned mawkish dramatic gesture, so he just pushed himself to walk.

She suddenly stopped, and he heard her exhale loudly.

"I cannot leave Bilbo alone," she addressed Balin, her voice shaking, and Thorin looked at her. Her face was pallid, and she was visibly quaking. She was purposefully avoiding to look at him! With some strange keenness he saw tears on the ends of her lashes.

Thorin felt furious. He did not need her pain and anguish to add to his! She could not even understand what loss he had just endured, what wound he had just sustained! And he did not need her pity! And he did not need her!

"Go to him now, and I never want to see you again."

He did not know where the words came from. Balin said something softly at the background, to pacify, and to soften his behaviour - as always, curse it! - but Thorin did not hear. He met her eyes, and she was silent, studying his face, her lips trembling.

And then she gave him a soft smile, so loving, and so sad, and the odd pain in his side magnified, taking his breath away.

"Goodbye, Thorin," she whispered, and turned to go back.

"Come back!" The Hobbit's voice suddenly rang. "It is the last of the moon! The last light of Autumn!"

Thorin rushed back to the door, by the woman, and by Balin, not hearing or seeing anything.

"The last moon of Autumn!" the Halfling cried out, and laughed, and Thorin stepped onto the ledge, his eyes already on the keyhole in the wall.

* * *

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Also available on the blog:

 **romance webserial: _Dr. T Series_**

 _Summary:_ Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

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 _Summary:_ Olivia Dane is an author of trashy romance novels. She lost her husband seven years ago and seeks no relationship, preferring the company of her imaginary yet dashing protagonists. When forced to go on a blind date, the last thing Olivia expects is to meet John Dowling, an architect, and a willing guinea pig for her writing research. Armed with openness and eager curiosity, Olivia and John endeavour to find out if erotic clichés even work, whether relationships tie one down, and who wears the trousers in this couple.

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* * *

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 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

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 **Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!**

* * *

 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

 _John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

 _Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


	37. Inside the Mountain

**A/N: And even more of the old stories receive regular updates now. Well, at least for now, while I'm looking for a job *sad sigh* Sadly, I'm no J.K. Rowling, and writing and painting doesn't pay well these days (When has it ever?) :D But for now, updates!**

* * *

"That, Master Burglar, is why you are here," Thorin spoke darkly, and Bilbo threw a confused look at him. And then he looked back at Balin, who gave him an encouraging smile.

"I will go with him." Lady Werna suddenly stepped ahead, and Balin saw her lips pressed in a tense line, all her movements rigid.

"It is not your job, Werna," the Dwarven King growled and turned to her. Balin noticed how purposefully far from each other they were standing. He did not know what had happened, but he assumed everyone's emotions were running high at the moment. "Master Baggins is the burglar of the company," Thorin continued. "He will go unnoticed. That is of course if the worm still lives."

"May I speak to you privately, my lord?" Werna gritted through her teeth, her eyes narrowed, and there was an instant of hesitation from the King. He then nodded, and the two of them stepped aside.

Balin saw how the Hobbit's worried eyes followed them. Both the Halfling and Balin could not help but assume that the former was the topic of their conversation. Lady Werna clearly did not want him to go.

Balin wondered whether being around Dwarves for all this time had started rubbing off the Halfling since instead of the usual worry and the nervous nose twitching, the Hobbit frowned and straightened out his clothes decisively. His cold face and a somewhat jerky lifting of the chin signalled that he might not have been a seasoned Dwarven warrior, but he had his merits!

And while the King and his betrothed were arguing in hushed voices, Bilbo grabbed Balin's sleeve and pulled him after himself into a narrow passage leading down.

Upon instructing the Hobbit, Balin sighed. Unlike Thorin who seemingly only saw Master Baggins as a means to an end, Balin had grown quite fond of the Halfling. And the latter was after all no Khuzd, and perhaps, some concessions could be made, and he was allowed to change his mind. Balin was old after all; and even with all the memories of Erebor aside, was a life of a person truly worth risking for the gold and riches of Erebor?

"I promised to do it, and I feel that I must try," announced the Hobbit, and Balin laughed softly. He truly didn't expect such nettle from the Halfling. There was still a thing to mention of course. Upon wishing Master Baggins all possible luck, Balin added, "Oh, and Bilbo… If there is, in fact, a live dragon down there, don't waken it."

The Hobbit's eyes widened. Balin decided there was nothing else to say, turned around, and left. His heart was heavy with worry, but he also remembered that outside the passage another storm was brewing.

* * *

The Dwarves were all waiting by the now open door, all faces wan and tense. Balin joined his brother, who stood by the wall. Ori was looking between his kin, worried and restless. Others either tucked themselves on the boulders, in uncomfortable positions; or paced the ledge. Lady Werna sat by the wall, her knees pulled to her chin, while Thorin stood by the edge, his back to the company.

Hours passed. No one spoke, only a few words were exchanged from time to time, mostly between Bofur and Bombur, since the two of them hardly had the ability to stay silent even in such circumstances.

And then the ground shook, and the mountain roared, the rumble born in its core, travelling through the wall and the halls and the passages - and Balin's breath hitched. The memories of the terror of a hundred seventy years ago rushed into his mind - and judging by the soft gasp from Lady Werna he was not the only one.

"Was that an earthquake?" asked Dori.

"That, my lad, was a dragon," Balin answered, and he met Lady Werna's eyes. He saw her lips tremble.

"I will go and find Bilbo," she exclaimed, jumping to her feet, and Thorin previously still facing the valley underneath sharply turned.

"You will not!" he growled at her, and she drew her brows together. "Master burglar is there for a purpose, and he will fulfill it."

"What purpose, Thorin?" Werna's voice rang. "To find the Arkenstone? It is hopeless now. Not with the worm still living..."

"Then he will die trying," Thorin gritted through his teeth. "He has signed the contract. He went by his own free will..."

"He only went to prove to you that he was worthy of being part of the company!" she exclaimed and took a step towards him. "Bilbo thought of duty. He had signed that contract, and of course he would not renegade from his obligations. But, Thorin, as the leader of our company, you surely should see sense, and call him back now..."

"Do not tell me what to do!" he barked at her, and she grew paler. "I am indeed the leader of the company, and I say we give him more time. And you will stay here. That's an order."

She shifted between her feet, and then dropped her eyes to her boots.

Balin considered interfering. Thorin was frightening him; he was hardly himself. Balin could see that the strain of the last moons of their journey; the despair of almost being defeated; and the worry for his warriors had depleted Thorin's will. He had grown unreasonable and rash.

"Forgive me, Thorin." Lady Werna's quiet voice made Balin look at her. She lifted her face, the expression determined, eyes burning. "Consider my actions a treachery then."

Thorin narrowed his eyes at her, and she pulled a sword out of her scabbard.

"I'm going after him. He is my friend. I cannot let him perish there alone."

"I will consider it treachery," Thorin venomously gritted through his teeth, and she jerked her chin up. "Know that you are making a choice here, Werna." There was menace to his voice as well, and Balin's heart clenched. "And know that I am not blind. I know of your heart's treachery as well. And of the meetings at night. And the stolen busses..."

Blood rushed away from Lady Werna's face. She had just been accused of the worst crime for a Dwarf - disloyalty, and Balin closed his eyes not to see the pain spilling onto her features.

When he looked, she was gone. Thorin returned to his spot on the edge, while the Dwarves exchanged agitated glances.

* * *

It took Thorin only a few minutes to lose his composure - much less than Balin had expected, with all honesty. A long string of swearings in Khuzdul fell off his lips, and he twirled on his heels and marched to the door.

Dwalin followed, but Thorin stopped him with a raised hand.

"I will go alone," he said, and some sort of a grimace distorted his features. Dwalin threw Balin a questioning look.

"He is right," Balin agreed. "Even all together we could not fight off the beast. But I say, there is no need for you to go either, Thorin. She will bring the Hobbit back."

'If both are alive,' Balin thought but kept it to himself.

"I do need to go. She is my..." Thorin started, but then shook his head, and marched into the passage.

Dwalin looked after him, and then approached Balin.

"How much time will we give them?"

"Thorin knows the mountain better than anyone," Balin answered with a sigh. "Barging in, we will just make more noise and betray our location to the serpent."

Dwalin grumbled something, but obeyed, and went back to his spot by the wall.

"Just another minute," Balin called to Dwalin over his shoulder, and heard a satisfied grunt.

* * *

The next hour rushed by Balin like a lightning storm. He hadn't felt that alive in decades, but as they say, there was still a tune to this old lyre. The excitement of the fight strengthening his limbs, making his eyes sharper, and his movements faster - all of it was familiar, and he thought if he lived, he would almost feel grateful to the serpent for trying to roast them like a lamb, and to Thorin for dragging them on this mad quest. That was of course if they lived, curse them.

And then they were in the forges, and he greeted them as old friends. His fingers were dropping the rocks into the flash fire pots, and he smirked.

"Just like old days, ain't it?" Lady Werna grinned to him, and he saw the battle fire flashing in her slanted eyes. He threw her an excited side glance. "I never thought I'd die in dragon's flames." She barked a throaty laugh. "Always thought it would be an Orc arrow."

"We aren't dead yet, lass," he answered to her, and she leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his cheek.

"If anything, I praise my choice of funeral companions!" She cheekily winked to him, and rushed to the shelf for more pots.

And then the serpent came, and the Hobbit pulled the lever, and the water rushed. Thorin seemed to have shaken off a few decades of age as well, judging by the stunt with the ropes, and dancing on the dragon's nose - not that Balin didn't approve. If one was to go, that was surely the best way to.

At some point he saw Thorin and Werna run shoulder to shoulder through a passage, and their eyes met, and Balin saw wide feral grins on both their faces - and Balin rejoiced. Surely, Mahal would be merciful, and give them opulent chambers in the Halls of the Forefathers to share for the eternity.

And then the serpent was gone! Balin gathered that the years of being cooped up in the caverns had dulled the famous dragon acumen, or perhaps madness had set in the scaly head; but instead of continuing to pursue them, Smaug the Horrendous decided to execute his revenge on the Lake Town. Balin couldn't believe their luck! Their demise was now postponed; and perhaps they could set traps; and there was still a chance some of them would live to see the next day!

The beast broke through the wall, with a roar, splashes of boiling gold they'd poured on it flying everywhere; and it disappeared towards the lake. The company was shouting, and hugging, and congratulating each other.

Except for the Hobbit who stood alone to the side, shaking.


	38. Deeper in the Mountain

**ANNOUNCEMENT:**

 **In the next few days, my humorous novel _Hammer Up!_ based on my fanfiction story "Stop, Hammer Time!" will go on Amazon Kindle Scout: it's an Amazon voting system where a reader can read a sample of a book, vote for it, and if it gains enough support, it gets published after 30 days, and... the reader who voted gets a FREE copy! Please, cast your vote for "Heph" Hephaestus who is suspiciously reminiscent of Thorin Oakenshield, and "Phro" Aphrodite who's totally a Wren/Werna :) I'll keep you posted when voting starts!**

 **Here's the summary of the story:**

 _ **To win the right to choose her husband, Aphrodite has to endure ten days in the company of Hephaestus, the fallen god of smithery. Except, everything about Heph freaks her out: he wears dirty clothes; he limps; his sacred animal is an ass. Meanwhile, he thinks she's a slag, and nothing but the means to an end.**_

 _ **Do you want to learn the Greek myths the hot way? Surprisingly accurate mythology, Cockney speaking gods, and frisky erotica are mixed in this story full of humour and romance.**_

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya kKolmakov**

* * *

At the end of the third day in the Mountain Werna found herself curled in some dark, dusty corner, her knees pulled to her nose, her arms wrapped around her shins. How different she had imagined the Dwarves' glorious return to Erebor! How much more light, and joy… and love had been in her dreams!

After the worm had flown to the Lake Town, and the company collapsed in one of the desolated halls, half of them immediately asleep, another half hardly keeping their eyes open, keeping watch in silence, unable to discuss what was to be done next. Werna was awake, sitting near Thorin. She leaned her shoulder against his, having thrown all propriety aside.

They had fought together, and she felt exuberant to have shared the fever of the battle with him. They were to die together... And then they didn't! And the serpent was gone, and the more time passed without him returning, the more hope they all felt. But the more hopeful she felt, the louder the memories were in her mind - the memories of her openly choosing Bilbo over him, of betraying him, of openly defying him. And the more time passed, the darker Thorin's face became.

An hour later Thorin woke those who had slept, and the discussions started, of whether they were to flee, to hide, or to try to build some defences against the serpent. And although her attention was focused on the planning, a minuscule part of her mind was preoccupied with how Thorin would stand further and further away from her, and not a single glance of his blue eyes would fall on her.

And then they found out that the dragon was dead. The Dwarves roared with joy, and relief; but just as Werna feared and didn't want to believe to come, Thorin's frown only deepened.

"We need to protect the Mountain, then. It is ours now, and we need to be ready to defend it," he spoke in a heavy tone, and Werna saw confusion on everyone's faces.

"Defend it from whom?" Bilbo asked.

"For the Men of Lake Town. And Thranduil. They will come for it." Thorin sounded raspy, some frantic feverishness colouring his voice; and Werna felt something clench in her chest. "And we need to start the search. The Arkenstone is somewhere here, in the riches. Half of us will build walls, and barricade the entrance; while others will search for the Arkenstone. No one rests until we find it."

And they followed his orders. Some were enthusiastic, discussing how the Arkenstone would become the symbol of Thorin's power, and how he would unite the Seven Kingdoms. Others, Balin and Bilbo mostly, seemed almost reluctant, although they did not resist. Werna had to remind herself that all things aside, Thorin was still the leader of her company, and she was to listen to him. On the other hand, she had already as much as removed herself from under his power. An untimely thought would flash through her mind: was she still his betrothed? And she would push it aside. It was hardly the time for emotions and maudlin sighs. And then she would ask herself if she had ever even been his betrothed. There had been kisses; and there seemed to have been promises; but there had been no beads, and he had asked for secrecy; and the company only knew since the two of them had had trouble keeping themselves in check. And then she would shake her head, and go back to work - to wander the halls of Erebor, searching for the white jewel.

And now she was sitting by the wall, her body aching, and her head filled with doubts and pain, which she now, in her exhausted state had so much trouble controlling. She was also hungry, and cold, and she noticed her hands shaking. The wounds were dully aching as well, and she wrapped her arms around herself more tightly.

"Werna?" Bilbo called for her softly, and she lifted her face to look at him. "May I sit with you?" She nodded and gave the Halfling a small joyless smile.

He sat, keeping a respectful distance from her. For a moment, she had a mad thought of shifting, and pressing into his side. She craved warmth and comfort, and she had no right to ask for any from him. Even if his feelings for her had dissipated by now, and such closeness wouldn't hurt him, she was spoken for. It was improper of her to seek embrace from another man.

"Werna, is Thorin..?" Bilbo started, and then stopped himself. She hummed, asking him to continue, without lifting her eyes at him.

She knew what he was asking about. Surely, they all could see how affected Thorin was. He was hardly himself. Not only he was not the man who had been writing to her all those years ago. The calm and confident leader of their company had vanished as well.

"Werna, I spoke to Balin, and he said that finding the Arkenstone would only aggravate Thorin," Bilbo whispered, and Werna sighed.

"Balin knows… the King better than any of us," Werna answered, also keeping her voice down. Their eyes met, and Werna's lips trembled. "Had you found the Arkenstone before I came after you, Bilbo?"

The Hobbit watched her face for a few moments - and then nodded. Werna felt blood rush from her cheeks.

"The jewel is his by the birth right," she slowly spoke, and Bilbo's face twisted in agitation.

"But, Werna, he is not… himself!" Bilbo's voice rose, and he funnily shushed himself. He then lifted his hand and fleetingly touched her sleeve. "He is distraught. He's fearful, and suspicious. He thinks… someone is hiding the Arkenstone, that there are traitors among us..."

Werna couldn't hold back a small bitter laugh.

"Someone is hiding the Arkenstone, Bilbo," she whispered pointedly. "And someone… has betrayed him."

"It's not that!" Bilbo's coarse voice grew defensive. "I only worry if it's wise..."

"I was not speaking of you, Bilbo," Werna interrupted him. "I… have defied him. I have..." Her throat constricted, and she shook her head, unwilling to continue. "It matters not now. He sent a raven to my _irak'adad_ , Dain Ironfoot. Once his army arrives, I will leave."

"Leave? Werna!" Bilbo grabbed her hand. "Why? I thought, you and Thorin..."

"Whatever happened between us has no significance now." The echo of Thorin's devastating words rolled in her mind. He had placed her before a choice then - him or Bilbo - and she had made it. "What matters now is what you're going to do with your… fourteenth share of the treasure." Werna gave Bilbo a meaningful look.

Bilbo's nose twitched.

"I think..." he started, and then awkwardly cleared his throat. "I think that Thorin, however unreasonable his state were, would still listen to the one who possesses the Arkenstone. Say, if it were a leader of Men, or even an Elf… unfortunately." Bilbo nodded couple times to his thoughts, and gave Werna a questioning look.

Werna closed her eyes. Everything inside her protested what was transpiring. She was a Dwarf after all, loyal to her kin, and to her King. Her upbringing and her very spirit demanded her to grab the Halfling, and shake the Stone out of him. And suddenly, she could clearly see bringing the loot to Thorin, and how grateful and forgiving he would be. He would accept her back. She would take her place near him. As his Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and as his wife. On the throne of Erebor, in the heavy Raven crown on her locks...

And then she came to her senses. She looked down on Bilbo's hand on her forearm, and then she met his greenish-greyish eyes.

"You should go, Bilbo. Tonight… When it's dark..." She felt tears roll onto her eyes, and she swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, and took a sharp breath in, reining her emotions. "You should go, and make your bargain."

"And you? Will you go with me?" Bilbo's fingers squeezed her arm, his eyes begging. Werna shook her head.

"I can't. I am a warrior from the company of Thorin Oakenshield. I will stay here, until Dain's army arrives."

"He will know!" Bilbo whispered frantically, and his throat bobbed. "He will know you knew of my plan, and that I had..." Bilbo quickly closed his mouth, and threw a cautious look towards the passage. "Werna, he is… dangerous."

Werna had nothing to do but nod. She then leaned ahead, closer to Bilbo's face, and smiled to him.

"It would have been so much easier if I were a Hobbit as well, my dear Halfling," she whispered, and finally her composure betrayed her, and she felt a tear run her cheek. "How much simpler and more joyous this perilous affair would have been..."

"Come with me, Werna," he breathed out, desperate plea in his tone. And Werna smiled to him through her tears, and leaned ahead, pressing her lips to his.

She allowed herself just one moment; and then she moved away and whispered, "Goodbye, my dear Hobbit."

He opened his mouth to answer, but she jerked, and rose, and left, without looking back. It was her turn to replace Bofur on the watch at the front gate.


	39. Off the Battlement

Food - the scarce supplies they had brought from Lake-town - had no taste. Water had it; it was foul and seemed to stain his throat. Sleep did not come; and when he managed to lie down and force his eyes to close, all he could see in his mind was the never ending dunes of gold. And then Thorin would startle, because even in his delirious slumber he was still seeking the Arkenstone, and when he once again thought he caught a glimpse of it, it would escape him again and again.

Days and nights seemed to mingle, in the Mountain whose silence and darkness he had longed for all through these years - and which now only seemed to drive him into deeper madness. Over the years of his travels, he had grown accustomed to sleeping under the stars, and waking up with the sunlight sliding on the tops of trees at dawn.

The company seemed to be in high spirits though, continuing their search for the Stone, revelling in the gold, exchanging gleeful remarks, showing each other exceptionally precious findings. And yet, Thorin could not share into their joy.

He wished he could. They had faced so many dangers, had travelled so far, and could have failed so many times. And yet they had triumphed! Why was he not joyous?

They had paid such a price for the Mountain! Kili lay in Lake-town, wounded, suddenly small in the infirmary cot, his face ashen. Werna's wounds still bled. All of the company looked thinned, pale, exhausted. And yet, after all the effort, the prize brought only woe to him.

He feared for it. Any day the Men and the Elves would come to take it, usurp it. And he would not even have the Arkenstone to confirm his right for the throne of Erebor!

He wandered the hoard with others, and suspicion grew in his heart. What if one of them had already found the Stone? Thorin remembered its glory, its opulence. No one would be able to part with it, once they had gotten their hands on it. Who was it? Nori? Dori? Bofur?

And then, as soon as he tried to put a face on this imaginary thief, he'd recoil from the thought. None of them would betray him! They had fought side by side with him; they had bled with him! They were his brothers in arms! Even the Halfling, the unwanted companion at first, seemed impossible as a culprit.

And Werna… Not her, of course. She worried him even more than others. Her wounds had been most severe; and the Mountain was cold; they had little food. She seemed to grow wanner and weaker each hour.

And then the bowman came, and with him the cursed Elf. They started demanding his gold, just as he had expected. And of course, they came with threats, and the Elf brought his army, in their shiny armour, and ridiculous helmets that made them look like some root vegetables sticking from under the ground.

He sent them away, and went down into the passages, to wake those of the company who slept. They had work to do.

But the more they searched, and the thicker their barricades grew - the more restless he felt. What if Dain didn't come in time?

To Thorin's relief, at least his sister-sons had returned from the city of Men. They bore news and stories of the dragon's rage, but Thorin did not wish to listen. All that mattered now was to find the Gem. Of course, a dragon would bring devastation to a dwelling. Thorin had seen it a hundred and seventy years ago. Did the Men expect pity from him?

* * *

And then the Man and the Elf were back, and with them the Wizard. Thorin could hardly contain his rage. Gandalf the Grey had been the one to inspire this quest! He had gathered them! He had forced the ridiculous Halfling onto Thorin! He had brought the map, and the key! And now, he was siding with the enemy: with the thieves and looters!

When he saw the Arkenstone in the hands of his adversary, the ground as if shook under his feet. There it was, the Gem of Erebor, the Heart of Mountain, so close, and yet, out of his reach! The facets glowed, light playing in it - so familiar, so precious!

There was still a chance it was a ruse. It was a trick, and the real Arkenstone was still buried in the Erebor riches. His heart screamed of it, and he shouted the accusation to the filth under his walls.

"It… it's not a trick," Bilbo's voice came from behind, and Thorin jolted and spun around. "The Stone is real. I gave it to them."

"You?" The word scratched Thorin's throat as if he tried to swallow an uncut gem.

And then, the cursed weasel proceeded to explain! That it was his 'share?!' That he had a claim over it?!

"You have no claim over any of my gold, you miserable rat!" Thorin growled, and took a step towards the traitor. The company shifted near them in agitation.

"I was going to give it to you. Many times I wanted to, but…" the Halfling mumbled, and Thorin saw red.

He narrowed his eyes and asked calmly, **"** But what, thief?"

"You've changed, Thorin. The Dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word."

"Do not speak to me of a word of honour," Thorin gritted through his teeth. He made another step, and his hand locked around the Hobbit's neck. "Do not speak at all, you _kamnul!_ "

He lifted the Hobbit up, pain of betrayal and fury quaking his body, and he squeezed his fingers. The company rushed to them, Fili shouted 'No!' Someone grabbed Thorin's arm, and he thought it was Werna. The Hobbit was rasping, battering his hands to Thorin's wrist; and someone tugged at Thorin's shoulders. There was a commotion, and he let go of the rat, and jerked, and twirled.

There was a loud yelp, and he looked. Werna lay on the ground, by the wall, where he had apparently thrown her. She was pressing her left hand to her side. He saw a blood stain spilling onto her tunic where her body had met a sharp edge of a battlement debris.

"Werna..." He took a step towards her, for a moment forgetting about the apostate.

"No, don't!" she suddenly cried out, lifting her hand, as if shielding herself from him. Thorin asked himself in horror whether she was afraid of him. "Do not ask for forgiveness… Do not care for me..." She suddenly emitted a sob, her face distorted in anguish. "I do not deserve it! I knew… knew of his plan. I knew he would give them the Arkenstone..."

She was shaking, and he couldn't move a muscle. She then grasped the wall, and rose, wobbly, breathing laboriously. He saw her blood on the stones she had been pressing her hand into to support herself.

He wanted to ask her why. He wanted her to explain, to beg forgiveness. He still hoped she would.

"I will take any punishment for my betrayal, but I do not regret it. They would kill you, Thorin..." He saw tears run her dirty cheeks, leaving streaks on the feverishly burning skin. "The company here… is like a rabbit in a snare. Nowhere to go… No way to fight. No food to sustain... I could not let you. Mahal only knows when Uncle will be here, if he even received the raven, and..."

"Get out," Thorin rasped out. "Get out..." She jerked as if he had slapped her, and he turned away not to see her face.

He walked off the balcony, without looking back. He seemed to vaguely remember that there was another person there he was to decide the destiny of, another traitor to banish; but his head felt as if in haze. He was almost blind, and he walked through a passage. No one followed him. He stopped without seeing where he was, and then he took a shuddered breath in, pressing his right hand over his heart. It seemed there was a wide wound in his sternum, as if an Orc blade went through him, and he tried to inhale, but it seemed there was no air in the room.

* * *

The Battle came almost as a relief. The relief from silence, and pain, and the company averting their eyes from him... and the emptiness. They had come to him, first Balin, then Dwalin, and eventually even Kili, with their emotional words and eyes that he wanted to hide from. He had sent them away, and hid in the wreckage of the Royal Halls. Like a coward.

He was sitting on his grandfather's throne and watched the dust dance in the air. Everything was now ashes and dust. The dragon stench was in the air. The worm was dead, and yet it would never leave Erebor. Everything Thorin had strived for, everything he ever cared about in the years after the attack… it was all in vain.

* * *

 _A hundred and seventy one years ago…_

"This line shows your mind..." He watched her small finger slowly move on his palm. "It is very straight, meaning you're stubborn and dedicated, and once your mind is set, you will do everything in your power to reach your goal." She threw him a cheeky look from the corner of her eye, and Thorin grinned to her. "And this part..." The tip of her digit tickled the thenar. "This talks of your will." She poked it, feigning a pensive frown. "Rigid, unbendable..."

"You're jesting!" Thorin made an astonishing discovery, and she roared with laughter. She dropped her head back, and he watched her squinted eyes, and the flaming orange springs of hair jump around her face.

"No, I am not! My nursery maid taught me palmistry! See? This is the ring of love." She brushed her finger to the upper palm under his middle and the fourth fingers. "Yours is crisp, you can see it clearly. It means you can love, and have the capacity to put love above all."

"How is that possible?" he asked in a teasing voice. "You just said I am dedicated to my goals above all. I am to be the King of the Longbeards. Wouldn't that be of more importance than mawkishness and... kisses?" He felt he was very cunning to mention kisses. They were sitting on a cover thrown on the floor, their legs intertwined, and her playful offer to read his palm had distracted them from quite enjoyable pursuits of the aforementioned kissing nature.

She snorted and quickly pressed her lips to his cheek.

"See? Even while talking about your birth right to the throne, you do think a tad about kisses," she drew out, and another light buss followed, this time closer to the corner of his lips. "That is why Mahal gave us hearts, not just heads. Sometimes… We have to make use of both."

He looked into her slanted, fire opal coloured eyes, and smiled to her softly.

"I will remember it," he said.

"Promise?" she asked, her eyes brilliant and full of artless warmth.

"I promise," he answered, and leaned in to her lips.

* * *

 _Present day…_

He rose from his throne, and shaking off the heavy cloak, furs, and the crown, he walked to the Front Gate. It was time to join his kin in battle.

* * *

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 ** _Summary:_**

 _Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

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 _Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

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	40. At the Brink of the Battle

**A/N: My dearies, please follow and like my writer's Facebook page. It's facebook dot com katyakolmakov. I post news and links to new chapters there; and I know how hard it is to keep up with all my mad updates on different platforms. But there's always a chance that you might find something interesting for yourself on my Wattpad, or Etsy, or Amazon. So, don't be shy-y-y-y... (Smaug voice :D)**

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 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

Bilbo and Werna slid down the wall, along the rope Bilbo had thrown over the rampart. Mid way, her hands slipped, from weakness and the blood on her palms, and she fell heavily on the snow covered boulders underneath.

Bilbo jumped after her, and helped her to rise to her feet. She heavily leaned onto his shoulder.

"Lady Werna," Gandalf said decorously, and she met his eyes. Bilbo saw a grimace of anguish run her features. "Bilbo?"

Before Bilbo could answer, Lady Werna turned to the Elvenking and as much as spat in a venomous tone, "I suggest you take me as a prisoner, Lord Thranduil. You seem to be at war with my kin, and even if I am not in the Mountain you are sieging, I am a warrior from the Longbeards."

The Elf gave her a long look over, and his lips twitched in disdain.

"I do not fight invalids, children, and..." Thranduil threw a look at Bilbo. "Farmers. You two may leave." He then turned his cold face and looked at the battlements behind them. Bilbo peeked as well, and saw the pale faces of the company. Thorin was nowhere to be seen.

"Go, Bilbo," Gandalf encouraged him. "Take Lady Werna to safety."

Bilbo wrapped his arm around her middle, mindful of the wounds, and pulled her after him.

They had not yet reached the edge of the valley, when the rumble of hundreds of feet marching, and a low hum of war horns rolled through the air.

"Uncle..." Werna whispered, and jerked out of Bilbo's arms.

"Werna, what?..."

She pressed a hand into her side, with a hiss through gritted teeth, and straightened out.

"I will go to them," she threw to Bilbo over her shoulder. "If I'm bandaged tightly enough, I can put on the armour. The fault will support me, and the breast plate..."

"Werna!" Bilbo interrupted her in panic. "Have you lost your mind? They are going to fight, and those are… are not some goblins. They are Elves!"

"They are the Elves to whom you've given the greatest treasure of my people, and I didn't stop you!" she hissed at him. "We have failed, Bilbo! Can't you see? We didn't stop the war, and now he will die!" She pointed at the wall with a shaking hand, her face pained and almost mad, and then she turned away from him. "Go to the Wizard, Bilbo. It's always the safest place - near a wizard..."

A Baggins in him demanded to listen to the stubborn Dwarf. She didn't need him! And what sort of help a quiet Hobbit like him could provide? And yet, after shifting between his feet for a few seconds - not more than two - he rushed after her. Even in her weakened state she was walking fast, and he had to pick up speed. Maybe, he was useless in the battle, he thought to himself. He couldn't fight, he couldn't block a blow that would fall onto her - he shuddered at the thought of the long curved blades of Elven swords - but perhaps, he could at least shield her from two or three. And then he remembered! He could put on his ring! Or better so, he could give it to her!

"Werna, Werna, wait!" His fingers frantically rummaged through his pockets. "Take my ring! You could fight better..."

"Bilbo, no!" she barked at him over her shoulder. "I will not take it. My honour has been marred as it is. And why are you walking after me? Go back to Tharkun!"

"Sure, sure, just a few more yards..." he muttered, stubbornly following her.

"Bilbo, Dain Ironfoot will not be happy to see a traitor of Erebor!" she sneered sarcastically.

"Well, that is that sort of day today, I suppose..." he answered. She made a scornful huffing noise, but stopped glaring at him. "And we don't have to tell your Uncle why we are outside the Mountain after all..."

"More lies?" she asked, and he frantically shook his head.

"No, no, I was just considering… waiting with our explanations, but of course, of course… no more lies." Bilbo thought that considering how slim their chances to survive that day were, surely, postponing their confessions and letting Elves finish what Thorin had started wouldn't be such a deplorable thing to do.

"We need to reach the left flank. That is where the healers battalion would be, and the spare armour." Werna suddenly stopped, breathing heavily. Bilbo saw blood trickling between her fingers. "Damn hills..." she rasped out.

Bilbo was considering trying to talk sense into her again, or perhaps simply clobbering her to the head with that boulder over there, when the army of Dain Ironfoot spilled on top of the high hill to their right.

* * *

Bilbo wasn't sure how Werna managed to find her kin in the utterly uniform lines of Dwarves. Only the beards and hair sticking from under the bulky helmets differed in colour. One couldn't even see the eyes, and yet, Werna rushed to a group of Dwarves, waving her arm, shouting, "Dania!"

One of the sturdy, hefty warriors shifted, and then the helmet was jerked off, and Bilbo faced the second Dwarven lady he had seen in his life. Her hair was strawberry blonde, face beautiful, noble, and cold.

"Werna?!" the Dwarven dame exclaimed, and stepped out of the line. Other Dwarves had not moved a muscle.

"I need one of your healers, and armour, and I have lost my axes!" Werna blurted out, and the slanted - of the same cat shape - eyes of Lady Dania quickly ran Werna's battered body.

She then turned and barked several commands in the Dwarven languages. Two Dwarves immediately rushed somewhere.

Bilbo watched the sisters meet, and Werna as much as fell into Dania's arms.

"Where is Uncle?"

"He rode to talk to the... visitors by the gate," Dania answered sardonically. "And to see what Thorin is up to in his chicken coop." While talking, she quickly divested Werna of her coat, and bunched up her tunic. One of the Dwarves returned with a sack, and started pulling out some jars and rolls of bandages.

"Thorin only has twelve men with him. And the Men and the Elves have allied against him." Werna's voice was breaking, and she would cringe from time to time.

Lady Dania and the Dwarf were deftly working on her wounds. Bilbo couldn't believe his eyes! Lady Dania seemed completely undisturbed by her sister's state, while Bilbo had to quickly look away from the purple bruises and bulging stitched scars. No questions were asked, and it was as if Werna were being helped into an evening dress!

"And who's the little one?" Dania asked, and Bilbo felt his cheeks flame. Lady Dania was a head taller than her sister, and yet, her comment sounded humiliating.

"This is Bilbo Baggins, a Halfling from the Shire. He was the burglar on our quest. He had opened the secret door to..." Werna gulped air with an open mouth when the healer pulled at two ends of her bandage. Bilbo could see the white cloth as much as cutting into Werna's skin. "To Erebor..."

"A burglar?" Dania asked, and threw him a curious look. "Thorin surely had chosen most unusual companions for himself. A Halfling, a Wizard..."

"Tharkun betrayed us," Werna spoke darkly, and Dania's eyes flew to her face.

"Fascinating. I have not anticipated it," Dania answered pensively. She then jerked the hem of Werna's tunic down. The second Dwarf was back with armour already.

A heavy breastplate with pauldrons was lowered on Werna, and she wavered under the weight. But even this did not prompt her sister to ask after Werna's health - or better so, to prohibit her to go into this surely suicidal battle!

"I have not anticipated seeing you here, either," Dania continued, moving around her sister, fastening clasps, and adding seemingly endless parts to the armour. "I expected you to stand by your… liege." It was clear from her tone that 'liege' was Dania's second choice in monikers for Thorin.

"Oh, so you had planned it from the start?" Werna asked venomously, and a helmet was placed on her curls. "Well, you have miscalculated the second time, sister. Not only I am not to be his queen, if we live through the battle, he might only have one wish to do with me: to throw me over the battlements." Werna's jest was bitter.

"I have such thought daily," Dania answered without missing a beat. "He will learn to live with it."

Werna shifted, as if settling into her armour. Bilbo noticed that it differed from that of Dania and the rest of the warriors around them. While the soldiers and the healers wore dark, undecorated armour, family crests on their breastplates - Werna's shone with gold and scarlet on its ridges. On the flat part of the front - Bilbo did not know the name for it - etched and painted intricately, there flamed a large bird, its wings opened in span.

Another Dwarf approached and handed her a battle axe and a sword. She clasped the former to her back, and lifted the sword to her eyes.

"Magruna, Mother's sword..." She tenderly stroked the blade. The sword was large, and wide; it seemed to Bilbo too massive, almost fitting for a Man, and definitely too heavy for a wounded Dwarf of short stature. "It is your heirloom, sister. I cannot accept it…"

"I see you have lost our Father's blade..." Dania pointed out, and Werna nodded slowly. "And your axes are gone. I say, go and fight for your King with the last weapon in our heritage."

"I will not let our kin down," Werna said firmly, and then the women stepped to each other and embraced tightly. Two sets of armour clanked to each other.

"I will go to the front, to Uncle," Werna said straightening up. Bilbo could see her eyes burn feverishly in the slits of the helmet. She then clapped her hand to her sister's shoulder, and added, "Take care of Bilbo, please," and then a few short sentences in the Dwarven language followed.

Dania threw Bilbo an even more curious, inquisitive look.

"Indeed? He is all that?" she asked, and shook her head. "If we survive this day, you will have to tell me all about the quest."

Bilbo felt uncomfortable under Dania's evaluating look, like a tuber on a merchant's cart. What had Werna said about him?

"I don't need to be… taken care of..." he muttered. "And, Werna, you should stay at the back, you are after all… injured, and I do not think…."

He did not get a chance to finish his squawking, since a third Dwarf appeared out of the ranks, leading by reins nothing less than a giant armoured… ram! Bilbo stared at it in astonishment.

"Goodbye, Bilbo. This time, for certain," Werna shouted, climbing on the animal, and Bilbo whipped his head and looked at her in shock.

"Werna..."

"Remember me, my Hobbit!" Her voice rang, and she pulled at the reins, taking the beast under control. "Farewell, Dania. May Mahal watch over you, and pray I wash off my dishonour with my blood in the first line of our brothers and sisters!"

"May the Forefathers watch over you," Dania shouted in return, and Werna spurred the ram. It made an angry coarse sound, and galloped away - carrying her away from Bilbo.

"Shall we get you some armour as well, Master Baggins from the Shire?" Lady Dania asked behind him, but he just stood, looking at the direction Werna disappeared at.


	41. Blood in the Breeze

**A/N: Firstly, if you like, you can see my latest doodle of Werna on my Instagram page (kkolmakov), or my DeviantArt (kkolmakov). I was working on Valentine's cards for my Etsy shop today, and Werna just happened :) Have a peek! I think it's more of a younger version of her, perhaps around the time in Erebor 171 years ago. **

**A/N#2: The next chapter will go up on Thursday, with an announcement regarding"Hammer Up!" (the book I'm promoting through Amazon Kindle Scout and you can get for FREE). Stay tuned!**

 **A/N#3: And now... dun dun duuuuuuuhn, BotFA!**

 **Thank you!**

 **Reviews are highly appreciated! ;)**

 **Love you all,**

 **Katya**

* * *

Bilbo came to, as it seemed to him, in the very middle of the battle. He groaned and tried to rise, but the heavy Dwarven armour that Lady Dania had ordered him to wear was pressing him to the ground. He jerked his arms and legs, scornfully imagining that he looked like an upturned beetle, and then finally he managed to roll onto his stomach and rise.

He looked around. Elven blades and Dwarven axes were now clashing with the monstrous weapons of the Orcs. It was surely a relief not to fear to be on the other end of a long Elven sword; but Bilbo Baggins had to admit that a battle - no matter with whom and against whom - was a messy affair, and he wished to have nothing to do with it.

Werna was nowhere to be seen, although since the battle started all Bilbo had been trying to achieve was to fight his way closer to where he thought she was. 'Fight his way' was, of course, an exaggeration. He ducked, swirled, and blocked blows as much as he could.

He had fallen onto his head, it seemed, and while the fight continued around him, he have been sort of forgotten in a small ditch, his only company being the boulder that he had almost bashed his head in with.

Bilbo decided that since he had not been born a Dwarf, there was no sense in trying to be one. He jerked and pulled, and finally freed himself of the heavy metal shell. And then he put on his ring, grabbed his sword, and rushed through the combatting crowds, to the Gates of Erebor.

In a clearing - for some inconceivable for Bilbo reason, empty of Dwarves, Elves, Men, or Orcs equally - Thorin was fighting Azog. Bilbo would assume warriors were to try to aid their commanders, but the two men were facing each other one on one.

The sea of the battling - bodies clashing, blood spilling, faces distorted - was rippling and bubbling around them. On the edges of it, Bilbo saw Kili, Fili, Bofur, Nori, and Oin; and others were probably somewhere nearby. The company was clearly staying by Thorin's side, holding off the mass of the combat closing around him and his adversary.

And then another wave of Dwarven cavalry, amount those terrifying rams, washed over the Orcs in front of Bilbo, and he saw Werna.

The blows of the battle axe in her left hand were crashing down on the heads of her adversaries, and bones cracked, and armour split. She then jumped off the ram, and the wide blade slid out of the scabbard. She grabbed it with both hands, the axe forgotten, buried in a skull of an Orc on the ground; and she swirled and flung the sword, and the bodies fell under her feet.

And then Kili collapsed on the ground, and Bilbo only noticed because he was looking at the brothers at that moment. Kili's mouth fell open in a scream of pain, and an Orc lunged at him. Fili had been separated from them by two lines of fighters, and he swirled, and rushed to his brother, but Bilbo suddenly realised with all possible clarity that Fili would be too late.

Bilbo jumped ahead, Sting clasped in both his hands; and he felt the blade scrape on the Orc's armour; and then the tip found a weak spot, as if without Bilbo's participation; and the blade sunk into flesh.

He forgot that he was invisible, and saw for an instant a surprised expression on the Orc's muzzle, and then Bilbo was thrown aside, by this monster, or another - and he found himself at Werna's feet.

When Bilbo had been leaving the Shire - in a different life, it seemed - he surely hoped he would not die on this journey. And then each time a peril came his way, he thought it was not the worse way to go - although he, of course, would prefer not to. At the moment he would like to emphasise that a giant spider, Warg teeth, icy water of the Lake-town, and especially a fire-breathing dragon were much more favourable sources of demise that an accidental death at the hands of a woman he loved.

Bilbo jerked off the ring, and Werna's eyes fell on him.

"Bilbo!" she exclaimed. And then Bilbo watched in terror how, distracted by his sudden appearance, she missed the next blow.

An Orc sword came crashing down onto her right shoulder, and she wavered, and rocked, and started keeling on one side. Bilbo rushed to her, shielding her with his body, and the next blow fell onto his back. He squeezed his eyes, but pain did not come. The mithril shirt gifted to him by Thorin saved him!

He pushed from the ground with his left hand and looked at Werna, spread under him. Her face twisted in pain, and then she opened her eyes. 'Bilbo…' she mouthed silently.

And then behind him, he heard Azog emit what sounded like a triumphant laugh. Bilbo and Werna looked. Thorin lay on the ground, a sword having fallen out of his hand, the Pale Orc looming over him. The monster barked something in his tongue, a feral gleeful grin on his ugly face.

Werna pushed Bilbo off herself - and with a scream of pain she jerked her body up to her feet, and lurched towards the fighters. Bilbo saw Fili jump out of the crowd, instants before her, his two blades cutting Azog under his feet. The Orc fell on one knee, and then swirled his terrifying mace, and it smashed into Fili's side. The Dwarf flew and tumbled a dozen feet away.

And then with a coarse battle cry Werna slashed the Orc diagonally, across his chest, from his waist, on his left side, and up, to his very shoulder.

Even with as little as Bilbo knew about swordsmanship, he could see that Werna had left herself open with that wide swing of her sword, sacrificing her safety for the force of the blow - and the heinous blade sticking out of Azog's stump went through Werna's breastplate, with a strange popping crackle.

And then Thorin rose, pushing off the ground with his sword, and he swayed and called to Azog, his voice still booming and authoritative.

The Orc jerked the blade back, Werna's body jolted, like a ragdoll with a porcelain head, in the most terrifying sight Bilbo had even seen, and she sank first on her knees, and then fell on one side in a heap.

Bilbo rushed to her. Azog had already clashed in a fight with Thorin, and Bilbo had noticed that blood was gushing out of his chest, slowing him down, probably draining him quickly - but Bilbo could not care less.

* * *

He considered dragging her away, from the battlefield. But when his eyes fell on the twisted and contorted metal on her chest, and the flesh and blood in the opening, and the deathly ashen skin, he grabbed her helmet and pulled it off. Her eyes were closed, a trickle of blood was running out of her mouth.

"Werna… Werna… Please, open your eyes..." he muttered, and he wanted to touch her, but she seemed to be one open wound, and his hands shook, and sob burst out of his throat.

"Werna..."

Something loudly clanked above him, and a heavy body slammed into the ground near him, and then a pair of bright brown eyes were in front of him. Bilbo looked up, and the face seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He was asked something, but he just stared at Werna's face. It seemed almost serene, he thought in astonishment.

"Bilbo! Is she dead?!" the voice insisted, and it also seemed familiar, but Bilbo gave the person in front of him a blank stare, and then his eyes dropped to Werna again.

She was dead, wasn't she? He picked up one hand in a thick glove, and moved closer, searching for something in her face.

"Bilbo!" the person called for him again, and then a roar rolled through the crowd, and everyone started shifting around. Some screams came. And it seemed some people were now running; and others were screaming something, and it sounded celebratory. Or perhaps not. Bilbo could not tell.

He brushed his hand to her cheek, and it felt so cold to him! She had always had warm hands, and he remembered the redness of the lips, and the softness of the cheek. He made a few strange fretty movements, his hands fluttered above her body, still not daring to touch.

Someone else's hand reached for her face, and Bilbo grabbed it, to push it away, but then he realised it was Kili, kneeling in front of him, and Bilbo let go. Kili pushed his fingers down her collar and pressed them to her throat.

And then Bilbo was shoved forcefully, and he fell on his side, and his head spun.

Thorin knelt in front of her, and then he slumped on one side, sitting and stretching his legs in front of him, pulling Werna to him, onto his lap. Bilbo made a panicked noise. What if Thorin was making it worse? And then Bilbo remembered that she was most likely dead.

"Werna..." Bilbo breathed out.

Thorin was silent, his eyes roamed her face, and then he cupped her jaw, and Bilbo saw the oddest thing - there was a soft smile playing on Thorin's lips.

The King murmured something, it was in the Dwarven language, and then he lifted his hand to his mouth, and jerked the glove off with his teeth. His palm once again tenderly lay on Werna's jaw.

"Look at you, _arsuna..._ What have you done to yourself? _Id-naith… Id-alnas..._ " Bilbo watched in horror how Thorin lovingly stroked her cheek, the same small smile playing on his lips. "Like the Hammer of Durin, so strong, so much fire… Why did you do it, my firebird?"

"Is she alive, Thorin?" Bilbo cried out, and Thorin looked up. Bilbo saw the streaks of tears on the dirt on Thorin's face, his blue eyes shining as if with a light of their own.

"She came back..." he muttered. "She saved me…" And then he squeezed his eyes for an instant. And when they opened, his look was sharp and sane, and his fingers pressed to her throat.


	42. The Last Letter

**ANNOUNCEMENT!**

 **My new book _Hammer Up!_ is currently up on Amazon Kindle Scout! It means you get to read the first chapters as a sample, and nominate the book for publishing! If it wins, after 30 days you get a FREE COPY! You can either go to their page, or follow a link from my blog  kolmakov dot ca. Please, vote and ask your friends and relatives as well.**

 **The story is cheery, light, and sexy! It's definitely M rated, and all the mythology facts have been researched in scholarly sources.**

 **Thank you for your support!**

 **Summary of** _ **Hammer Up!:**_

 **To win the right to choose her husband, Aphrodite has to endure ten days in the company of Hephaestus, the fallen god of smithery. Except, everything about Heph freaks her out: he wears dirty clothes; he limps; his sacred animal is an ass. Meanwhile, he thinks she's a slag, and nothing but the means to an end.**

 **Do you want to learn the Greek myths the hot way? Surprisingly accurate mythology, Cockney speaking gods, and frisky erotica are mixed in this story full of humour and romance.**

 **Cheers,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 _ **And now, to Middle Earth!**_

Someone touched Thorin's shoulder and he sat up with a startle, his eyes flying open.

"Good day, my lord," Lady Dania greeted him in her lulling voice, a sarcastic note hiding in her tone.

It had been five days after the Battle, and Thorin apparently had fallen asleep in a passage, despite the rumble of columns and boulders being hauled at the background, people rushing by, and the pain in his left side where five ribs had been broken.

He looked at her, and once again asked himself how he could have been such an idiot! He had seen Lady Dania's portraits, in the house of her kin in the Blue Mountains; and he carried his betrothal gift with him for years. Only an imbecile would not figure out that the faces on them were not the same! And that these were not the eyes he had gazed in all those years ago, in a drawing room in Erebor, just before the dragon attack.

* * *

It had been Werna. It had always been Werna. In Erebor a hundred seventy years ago; on the portrait in the silver case he had carried with him - it was Werna, who now lay in the infirmary, broken, mingled, her face white and lifeless.

The first few hours after the Battle passed in haze. They carried the wounded inside the Mountain: Dwarves, Elves; and Men. More healer tents were put up in Dale's ruins. The Elvenking sent messengers to his Halls, bringing more supplies and more healers. Thorin wished he could lingered in the infirmary, just like the Halfling, who not only stayed by Werna's side, but insisted on holding her hand at all times - but Thorin had his duties.

At dawn he finally found a moment to spare, and rushed to the infirmary. Inside the crowded hall, full of people dashing around, and moans and screams of pain, Werna was placed on a low improvised cot. And near it, absorbed in a conversation with a healer stood a woman who could not be any other but Lady Dania, daughter of Lyr.

She was just as beautiful as her portraits - even after the battle, with dirt on her face, she looked regal and assured, her golden locks scattered on her shoulders. Her left arm was in bandages, and she seemed to favour the left leg.

"My lord," she greeted him with a small bow.

Thorin frowned at her, pushing the flurry of thoughts at the back of his mind, and turned to Werna.

The Halfling was sitting on some crate near her cot.

"They say she… she could wake up… recover… if she comes to in the next few hours. The next few hours are most important," the Hobbit muttered, and Thorin stepped closer.

His eyes ran the familiar features, and he stretched his hand. The tips of his fingers bumped into her wrist, her hand lying limply on the sheet. He drew a sharp breath in, and then turned around and started walking away.

"Let me know, if anything changes," he threw to the healer nearest to him, and left the hall.

* * *

"Good day, Lady Dania," he answered, and sat up straighter on the toppled over column which he apparently nodded off on.

"She is sleeping," Dania spoke in an even tone. "She breathes evenly; and her mind and her will did not seem to have left the body. She might wake up."

Thorin nodded. He expected Dania to leave, but instead she sat on the other end of the column. She opened a small bundle, and he saw bread, cheese, and salted meat. Thorin realised he could not remember when he had eaten last. Dania threw him a side glance, and moved the cloth with the food onto his lap.

"Balin ordered me to feed you," she said, and he froze with the piece of meat between his teeth. She gave out a short low laugh. "I asked him where you were, and he loaded me with food, as if I were a donkey."

Thorin started to chew. It was the first conversation they had ever had, and he already found her manners aggravating.

"I have something for you, my lord," she said a few minutes later, and he turned to her tiredly.

It was a stack of letters. The ribbon holding them together had once been silky and lilac, and now was soaked in dirt and blood. Two corners of the stack was stained with blood as well. Thorin recognised his own seal on one of the letters.

"She had carried them through the quest. I can guess the older blood stains are from her wounds in the goblin caverns. Your company had been most informative, especially Master Dori and Gloin." Thorin threw her an irked look. "And these stains are fresh, just from a few days ago, when she sacrificed herself to gain you advantage over the Pale Orc." Lady Dania's tone was offhanded, as if she were discussing furniture. Thorin gritted his teeth. "She carried your letters into battle, under her breastplate. And yet, I think they are worth nothing."

And then she threw the stack down on the floor at his feet. He hissed a swearing under his breath, quickly bent, and picked them up.

"What are you..." he rasped out, and his voice broke.

"I am not saying my sister isn't a worthy correspondent for the King of Longbeards. I am saying this is the letter you should hold on to," she said in the same even tone, and he saw a small roll of parchment in her hand.

"I am growing tired of your convoluted wheedle, my lady," Thorin barked at her. "Do you not care for direct talk?"

"You mistake me for my sister, my lord," she answered sarcastically, and he clenched his fist. "Take it, my lord. And read it."

He wanted to tell the cursed woman to leave. He wanted to tell her that he wished to stay alone - in his guilt, and his loss, and his petrifying fear that another day would pass by and Werna still would not open her eyes. He did not wish to be poked and prodded and have his mind played games with - and yet he picked up the parchment and opened it.

 _My dearest Thorin,_

 _I know you will not recognise the handwriting, and will ask yourself who is this woman writing to you. My name is Werna, daughter of Lyr - and I am the woman who doesn't deserve your love; and yet I'm the one who was gifted with a sliver of it._

 _Many years ago, my sister pushed me into your arms. Do you remember it? The tapestry moved, and I stepped into the light of the passage; and there you stood, and my heart exploded, like a flash fire in my chest. She pushed me, and pretended I was Dania, the girl fortunate enough to be promised a chance to be your betrothed._

 _You will notice how scrambled this letter is - and how sloppy the runes are. I apologise. I am a warrior, and not a scholar, or a politician, like my sister. And since she was the one writing all those letters to you, with me only expressing ideas and sentiments - you will find this letter disappointing._

 _I should have told you the truth then - but I couldn't. I had met you by then, and the silly heart of mine craved you. And after the fall of Erebor, I allowed Dania to convince me to write to you, to sustain the pretense. I berated myself with each letter we sent you; and yet I never put an end to it._

 _Can you see the mistakes I am making in my writing? I used to pretend that I did not want you to see the woman you imagined you loved to have such appalling manners, and the simple interests of a girl who cared for swords and axes more than for books; that we did it for your sake._

 _That was a lie, of course. I just could not give you up. The more letters a raven brought, the less I protested and argued with Dania. I even allowed her to send you my portrait instead of hers. She said it would not matter since they bore little resemblance to real life at any rate. I feel ashamed to admit it, but my heart would rejoice every time I thought it was my portrait you looked at. And when she suggested sending you a handkerchief, I did not argue at all, and simply started on the embroidery._

 _So, when it was time to answer you, I would say what I wanted to write to you; and Dania would put it into smooth and educated words, and she added and subtracted; and her runes had always been so much better than mine!_

 _But I cannot do this anymore. I cannot lie. You deserve the truth, and you deserve a betrothed who would be worthy of you. I would not know if it is Dania, or some other, but it surely is not me._

 _I had always dreaded the day when we met, and you would see who and what I was; and how little of the woman you loved was in me. And now I think that knowing the truth would set you free, and allow you to give your heart to someone who was genuine, wholesome, and honest. And if we ever meet, I will only feel relief that I am given a chance to ask for forgiveness in person. I will not expect it, I know that what I did could not be justified - but I would like to look in your eyes when I admit my fault._

 _I would also ask you to condone my sister. She did what she thought was best for me; she cared for my heart that I had foolishly given to the man who was never to be mine, and_

The letter stopped abruptly, and Thorin stared at the last word.

"I caught her writing it," Dania said calmly. "It was about a year before you broke off our engagement. We had a long argument, and I snatched it from her. I made her promise me she would never try to write to you again."

Thorin gave her a disbelieving look. She was utterly calm, her beautiful face reserved and assured!

"I miscalculated. I assumed you two were sufficiently in love for nothing to be able to stand between you two. I did not anticipate you abandoning the commitment. And then when she wanted to go on the quest with you, I convinced her to take a letter, as if from me, to bind you two together. And yet, you still managed to somehow ruin it." She gave him a pensive look over.

"We..." Thorin felt so infuriated and so shocked that his words got stuck in his constricted throat. "We are none of your business! Whether we ruin something, or..."

"Not you two. Just you, Thorin." She lifted one eyebrow, and that was the first time Thorin ever considered slapping a woman in his life! How dared she! "Oh, I am not talking about the Arkenstone. Your companions had enlightened me on the matter, though; and I can't say it was a moment of glory for you, my lord. I do not even allude to you throwing her out of the Mountain, wounded, bleeding, half dead, with Elves and Men waiting for her under your walls. You do realise she was not intending to live past the battle? That she went in it with the sole purpose of dying for you?" The dispassionate, sardonic words cut Thorin like daggers. "No, I am talking about my sister being in love with the Halfling."

"Bilbo?!" There was some strange ringing in Thorin's ears, and something painfully clenched in his right side, under the healthy ribs.

"Aye. She told me so herself. Asked me to look after him. That was her last will - that the man, whom she just could not stop loving but should not have, was to live to see the next day."

"You are lying!" Thorin breathed out.

"My whole healer battalion heard it." She gave him a venomous smirk. "You can ask any of them. She loved you, Thorin, doubt not. She lived for you, only for you, for a hundred seventy one years. She died for you. But he has wormed his way into her heart. And knowing Werna, you have only yourself to blame."

She then rose; and giving him a low mocking bow, she left Thorin alone on his column.


	43. A Favour He Had to Ask

The next day closer to the evening Thorin walked through the Great Gate of Erebor, and crossed the bridge. It was growing dark; and most of the works had ceased already. Just a few Dwarves were moving around in the twilight, putting tools away. Thorin shortly nodded to them, without noticing the faces, and walked briskly towards the large pretentious tents set up in the Eastern side of the valley. He passed the Elven guard, who saluted him, and approached the tallest structure. Not a muscle moved in the two Elves standing by the entrance, but he could almost feel their unease. A small smirk touched his lips, for a second pulling him out of his dark thoughts; but then his mind was back on his task. He picked up the flap, pulled it aside, and entered. After all, he knew he would not be intruding. The cursed pointy-eared bastards did not sleep.

Thranduil was sitting at a large desk. Thorin wondered whether they had hauled it here all the way from Mirkwood after the battle, or the pompous buffoon travelled with it perpetually.

"Thorin, son of Thrain," the Elf announced, lifting his thick eyebrows. Thorin swallowed the remark that he did know his own name.

"Thranduil, son of Oropher," he greeted back, and gave the Elf a small nod.

"Alone, in the dark, without your… company?" The Elf rose, and gave Thorin a look over, tilting his head. The silver clobber was just as shiny and ridiculous as Thorin had expected. In the current conditions, the most luxury Thorin could allow himself was a quick wash in cold water, and a clean tunic purchased from the Lake-town people, and for thrice the price. Did the Elf hide a bathtub and an army of washer women in his tents?

"I came for a private conversation, King Thranduil." Thorin held tight reins on his temper. After all, he had a purpose in this tent. "And a dinner would not be unwelcome." A snappy remark fell off his lips as if without his will. The Elf shifted, his eyes intent on Thorin, but then he widely gestured on the chair across the desk.

After a short command in his language, shouted to the guards outside, Thranduil sat as well, and threw one long leg over another.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, King Thorin?" There was venom in the Elf's tone, especially noticeable around the moniker; but Thorin didn't have the luxury of letting himself to be goaded.

"I brought a… token of my willingness to be allies in the future," Thorin answered slowly. "And I came to ask for a favour." The tilt of the Elf's head intensified. "There is no dependency between the two. The peace and my… friendship are yours to accept, no matter what."

Thorin pushed his hand in his dusty doublet and pulled out the package he had carefully carried out of the treasury of Erebor. He placed it on the table and opened it. The White Jewels dimly sparkled in the light of the torches.

It was good to know that even the Elven Kings lost their composure and gasped. The disgusting long pale fingers twitched on the table.

"What do you want in exchange for my jewels, Thorin, son of Thrain?" the Elf rasped, his pupils dilated.

"Nothing. They are yours. They are returned to you, as the first step in building a union between our peoples." The long nose twitched and the nostrils flared like of a rat's smelling scrap; and then he threw Thorin a suspicious look.

Thorin understood the Elf's dilemma: accepting the jewels meant he could be bought; and yet there they were, glistening alluringly in front of him.

"What is the favour you came to ask for, King Thorin?" Thranduil leaned back in his tall chair, pulling his hands away from the jewels on the table.

"It is of a personal nature. Not of the state importance," Thorin answered gravely. The Elf twitched an eyebrow, apparently signalling Thorin to continue. "One of my warriors is on the brink of death. Many are, too many. And asking you to help one, favouring… her over others is… dishonourable. And yet I am here to..." Thorin gritted his teeth, but pushed himself to continue, "To beg."

"A woman?" Thranduil gave him a dramatic incredulous look. "I was not aware the King Under the Mountain was… attached."

"She is not my Queen, if that is what you ask," Thorin asked, and the memories of Lady Dania's cold voice scraped at his memory. "She is a warrior from my company."

"The redhead whom you banished from your Mountain?" the Elf continued inquiring, and Thorin was ready to scoff and rebuke, but he thought of Werna's pale face and the broken body on the cot.

"Lady Werna is… dear to my heart. The matters of our past are in the past." Thorin swallowed the knot in his throat. "She is dying. Healers cannot help her. Dwarven medicine brings no relief. I am asking you to help."

Thorin had not lied - he was prepared to beg. But apparently there was a heart in the stone chest of the Elvenking. He gave Thorin a long studying look, and then his face wavered.

"I had never applied my skill to healing a Dwarf, Thorin, son of Thrain. Let us hope the anatomy is relatively the same." Thranduil rose. "We shall go now. And together. Unlike you, I do not wish to invade my allies' camp unannounced."

Thorin got up as well.

"That is wise," he answered. "My guards would be much less understanding."

Thorin, Thranduil, and an Elven healer with a crate of supplies, whom the Elvenking had ordered to go with him, entered the infirmary. Bilbo was sitting on his usual spot, his chin on his fists, his eyes trained on Werna. There was now green tinge to her skin, with dark purple shadows under the eyes and on the temples. Thorin had seen enough death in his life. Werna had almost crossed the threshold.

"The Halfling?" Thranduil asked in a mocking voice. "You seem to have been uncharacteristically forgiving to your treacherous companions, Thorin, son of Thrain."

"It is a new day, King Thranduil. Old grievances are to be forgotten now," Thorin answered, and Thranduil threw him an amused side glance.

"Bilbo," Thorin called for the Hobbit. The Halfling jerked and lifted red-rimmed, tortured eyes at Thorin. "King Thranduil has come to offer his help to Werna. You will need to step aside now." Thorin heard himself how soft his tone was. Maybe, he was just tired; or perhaps, he believed his own words; but Thorin could not find any enmity towards the Hobbit in his heart.

The Halfling scrambled onto his feet, and let the Elf approach. Thranduil bent down almost in half, and picked up the sheet covering Werna's torso. He then started examining the bandages. When he silently stretched his hand to his companion who deftly placed a long narrow blade in it, Bilbo jolted, and almost rushed ahead, and Thorin placed his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder.

"Let him try," he whispered to the Halfling, and their eyes met. Thorin wondered if the same fear and pain were in his own eyes. After all, they were looking at the same picture - the woman they loved and were about to lose. The Hobbit was a shadow of the man who had left the Shire; and even of the man who had accused Thorin of having no honour, then, on the battlements of Erebor.

The Elf cut through the bandages around Werna's middle, and Thorin saw the Hobbit quickly avert his eyes. Thorin watched Thranduil's hand hover over the mingled and stitched flesh, and then warm golden light seemed to grow between the palm and the wounds.

"She is… not fighting," Thranduil spoke slowly. "It is hard to save an unwanted life." He then looked at Thorin. "Your healers did an excellent job. I have nothing to add to it, except perhaps some herbs from my woods, to sustain strength in her body. As for my magic… It is not welcome."

"But… she would not give up! Not her!" the Hobbit exclaimed. "She has always been so strong!"

Thorin realised his hand was still on the Halfling's shoulder, and he squeezed and gave the Hobbit a small nudge forward.

"Talk to her. Call to her," he spoke in a low voice. "Call to her, Bilbo. She needs to hear your voice."

The Hobbit rushed ahead and dropped on his knees near the cot. He picked up Werna's hand, and then his second hand flew to her face. He moved a fiery wave off it.

"Werna… Werna, wake up… Come back to us..."

The Elf shifted, splaying both his hands above her.

"Werna..." the Hobbit continued his feverish whispering. "C'mon… Come back. You cannot give up, not now… We have won, everyone is alright… Thorin is here, Werna. You saved him. Remember? Hm? Werna... You said you would do anything… He is here, Werna… Wake up..."

The golden light spilled, first just a gleam, and then growing in strength. Thorin saw the Elvenking's lips move, in silent words.

And Thorin searched her face, waiting for a flutter for lashes, or a twitch of lips, hoping, and praying to Mahal… and then he heard a quiet gasp, and her lips parted. There was an instant when he felt the world around him grew silent and still, and then she drew a breath, and her chest rose; and Thranduil moved closer; the Halfling let go of her hand; and stepped back.

"Lord Thranduil will need sequestration now," the other Elf said. "He will need to dedicate himself to saving your friend. But rejoice. There is hope for her."

Thorin closed his eyes, and a raspy sigh burst out of his chest. He then felt Bilbo tug at his sleeve, and they stepped out, behind the curtains separating Werna's cot from the next one. The Elf drew the drapery on all sides of the solar, concealing what was transpiring inside.

Thorin took a step away, and suddenly the room swayed in front of his eyes. He started keeling on one side, and felt the Hobbit support him.

"Thorin?"

"It is nothing… Just..." Thorin blinked purposefully, trying to shake off the haze. The room around him seemed to be washed of all colours, all lines were blurred, and then his knees gave in. Fortunately, the Hobbit was there to push him on the nearest bench at the last moment. "Just tired..."

"When did you last sleep, Thorin?" Bilbo asked, and Thorin rubbed his face with his hands.

"I do not know… I know when I ate last," he muttered for no reason. "Just now, in Thranduil's tent, while he was preparing..."

"Well, I do not expect that to fill you properly," Bilbo commented, and suddenly it seemed very funny to Thorin.

"Nay, it did not." He chuckled, and then again, and then he realised his hands were shaking, and he gulped air with his open mouth. And his eyes burnt; and in astonishment he felt wetness on his cheeks.

He did not know what to do now! He lifted his hand to wipe them, but what would it look like? And then he saw how much his fingers twitched, and it seemed that the tremour ran from the very tips, up the arms, and echoed somewhere into his stomach. And he tried to inhale again, and it was loud, and shuddered.

And then the Hobbit's hand lay on his shoulder, and Bilbo gave it two comforting pats.

"It is alright, Thorin. Alright…"

Thorin pressed one hand over his mouth. He could not be sure what he would do next. If he was shedding tears, he could be sobbing next!

"She will be alright now, Thorin." Bilbo's voice was soft and warm, and Thorin shuddered. "You saved her. She came back for you." Another pat followed, and then Bilbo muttered something about 'water and some bread, and cheese perhaps,' and started walking away.

Thorin breathed carefully, trying to take his quaking under control, and then he sharply whipped his head to look after the Hobbit, the Halfling's words finally reaching his understanding.

* * *

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	44. A Pantry in Erebor

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* * *

 _Two months later…_

A familiar healer walked Werna into the courtyard, and helped her to sit down on her usual bench on the mezzanine. The yard was empty. It was close to dinnertime, and tonight was the beginning of the three day feast, the last one in the two moon celebration of the Khazad's victory in the Battle of The Five Armies.

In three days, the army of the Iron Hills was to return home. The last gifts were to be exchanged; the congratulations and the pledges of the allegiance were once again to be pronounced to King Thorin III Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the Liege of the Seven Dwarven Kingdoms, the King Under the Mountain.

Tonight's revels were to be held in the visitor halls with King Bard and King Thranduil having been invited as the guests of honour. It was known, though, that at the last moment, the Elvenking had politely declined in a letter brought by an haughty looking courier. His army had gone back to his halls a moon ago, leaving only healer tents behind. On the other hand, King Thranduil had been present at the festivities before his departure; so now even the most bigoted Dwarves could not say he had been unwilling to make - though, tentative - steps towards the reconciliation between their peoples.

Bard the Bowman was invited more often, and came more frequently. He had formed hesitant friendship with the sistersons of the King, after it turned out they had protected his children during the Orc attack, and later, in the fire of the dragon. A certain degree of respect and cautious amicability was growing between him and King Thorin himself. They had, after all, years of ruling neighbouring Kingdoms ahead of them.

All of that was known to Werna since Dania and Bilbo had insisted on coming to her with news and gossip at least thrice a day each. Werna found their efforts taxing. These days, everything seemed taxing to her. All she wanted to do was to sit on her bench, watching the lights of Erebor flickering.

"You are looking better today, my flower," a warm voice came, and she looked up. Amrod, son of Mablung stood, leaning on a column of the mezzanine.

She had heard that he had joined the Battle of the Five Armies, having arrived with Beorn the Skinchanger and the Eagles. He had been wounded, and had been recovering in one of the newly opened infirmaries of the City of Dale. She was told he had come to visit her twice already. She could not remember the first time; she did not care to remember the second one. All she wanted was to be left alone.

The Gondorian sat near her on the bench, and stretched his long legs in front of him.

"What are you watching, my lady? There is no training today. Everyone is preparing for the feast, I was told. Master Beorn told me he would leave in two days. I doubt he would be able to stand then, to say nothing of travelling - but when he goes, I am thinking of joining him." His tone was even and friendly. He pulled out a pipe and started stuffing it. She could feel his eyes on the side of her face. She asked herself in an innumerous time why they would not just leave her in peace.

"My flower, are you still not talking? That terrifying sister of yours told me you do not. Said you have not uttered a word since you woke up. And then that funny rabbit fellow of yours cornered me and started squawking something about how your spirit had been broken by the battle, and how they feared you would take your own life. I said, 'Not my little flame!'" he pronounced dramatically and waved his hand in a wide gesture. "I told him you probably just felt pestered by their attention, and missed the road and a sword in your hand. I know your right one cannot be restored, but as I have been at the receiving end of your left punch, I have to say, you are still a force to reckon with."

Werna looked down at her right hand. She was now able to curl the fingers, but still could not hold anything heavier than a half filled mug in it. The Orc blade had cut a ligament in her shoulder, then, on the battlefield, just before Bilbo saved her life. Werna quickly shifted her eyes on the staircases and passages in front of her, prohibiting herself to think of the Hobbit.

"Well, my flower? What is the matter?" the Gondorian suddenly asked, and she felt him shift closer. Why wouldn't he just leave? "Your sister sent for me; your Halfling is probably lurking in the nearby passages, muttering and pulling at his braces; and your Dwarf..."

Werna's body jolted, and she felt her throat constrict painfully. Amrod paused, and then continued in a soft quiet voice, "It is not in your nature, _elanor_. Your eyes are dead, and..." He paused again, searching for words. "I refuse to believe that the battle and the wounds broke your will. I have heard all sorts of preposterous rumours; as contradicting as the day and the night. That the Dwarven King had bought the help of the Elvenking with all the gold from his mountain just to save your life; and now all the halls are empty. Just dust and echo..." Amrod drew out in a mocking terrified tone, and then grew quiet probably waiting a response from her. After a few minutes of silence, he sighed and continued, "Alternatively, they say you have been banished from the mountain, and the reasons given are one madder than the other - but you are here, my flower, so it seems unlikely your Dwarf is unhappy with you. So, which is it, elanor?"

Werna wondered if indeed Bilbo was, as Amrod said, lurking in the nearby passages, or she would be able to just get up and leave. She could walk without support these days, and perhaps she could just wander. Everyone would be preparing for the feast; no one would care that she did not return to her solar.

"You know, my lady, as verbose as I am, and as much as I can sustain an engaging conversation with myself for hours, I would still like to hear something from you." Amrod's tone was still jesting, but she could feel he was losing patience. Perhaps, he would give up now, she thought.

"Alright, enough of this game, my lady. Your sister came to see me the other day. She said you had written to her about me, ten years ago; and as she put it, 'since all other men tried and failed,' it was my turn. Apparently, she thinks that your path to recovery lies through a male. Which I found surprising since she was supposed to know you well, and when have you ever been a woman first, and a warrior last? So, something went wrong with your King, and the Halfling didn't deliver…" Amrod scoffed. "One needs to be mad to assume that romantic trifles would turn you into a listless ragdoll. Wounds heal; and you can still fight. So, get up and fight."

Werna decided that was quite enough. She pressed the left hand into the armrest, and heavily leaning on it, got up. The healer had left her cane in the solar again. Werna suspected it was done on Dania's orders.

"Going somewhere, _elanor_?" the Gondorian asked behind her, but she was already walking away from him. She doubted she'd see much solitude; the Gondorain would run to Dania of course, and then either a courtier, or Dania herself, or the ever present Bilbo would jump out from around a corner - and fret, and ask about her health, or try to pull her into a conversation, or feed her.

They were wrong about her. She did not want to end her life. She did not wish it to continue either - but doing anything about it would mean pondering, and deciding, and acting - and Werna wanted to do neither. She just wanted to watch the lights.

* * *

She walked slowly, making random turns, trying to steer away from the smallest noises - voices or footsteps - and then she turned a corner, and stopped in front of a door. She did not know what was behind it, but it was narrow and dull; and Werna hoped it was a pantry of sorts. She pushed it open, and with relief she saw rows of crates of dry herbs, and sacks and barrels of medical supplies.

She walked in, closed the door behind her, and sat on the floor, between two crates, leaning her back at the cold wall. She closed her eyes, and started counting in her mind. It always helped - to keep her awake, and to stop her from thinking. She could not afford either. Sleep brought nightmares. Awakeness brought regrets and shame. As long as she counted - slowly, in turns in Khuzdul and Common Speech - she could breathe.

Werna woke up with a loud scream, choking, and gasping for air, her face covered in tears and sweat. She jerked and scampered, her elbow met something hard, and she hissed in pain. She had pulled at her stitches as well, and ache spilled through her torso. She looked around, and realised that she had fallen asleep. Her back ached, from the uncomfortable position, on the hard floor; and she moved, and pressed her hands into the nearest crate trying to get up. It took two attempts, and she was finally on her feet.

The room was dark, only the light of the torches streamed in the crack under the door from the passage. And then she realised she had to step out of this pantry now, and walk back to the infirmary; and face all of them again - and she could not.

Why had she not died? she asked herself yet again. Was she not deserving of a place in the Halls of the Forefathers? What was the meaning of Mahal's will, to send her back, broken and dishonoured? She had felt so joyous, lying on the field then, dying for her King, hoping she had washed off her treachery with her blood and her life.

Had she not paid enough for betraying... him, for helping to pass the Arkenstone to the Elves and the Men? When she opened her eyes and saw his face before her… There was an instant there - a blissful, exuberant instant - when she thought she was dead, and he was near her. She would berate herself now, again and again, for being so arrogant as to assume that if he were dead, she would be allowed to see him, to say nothing of sharing his halls… And yet, for just a second there she believed. And then the pain tore at her body, and the smells of blood and rotting flesh hit her nose - and she knew she lived; and that her punishment was to continue now.

Werna pondered sitting back down. She was feeling weak, and her head spun. She had shifted the bandages, when she woke up; and her side seemed to be bleeding again.

And then loud voices came from behind the door. People were calling to each other, the voices were agitated, and she could hear doors bang one after another. And then her door was jerked open, and she squinted, blinded by the light that spilled from the passage.

"Werna, damn you! We have been searching for you for hours!"

* * *

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 **Blog: kolmakov dot ca**

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 **3. Wattpad: Katya Kolmakov**

 **Romance/erotica webserial _Jack in the Box_**

Armed with several degrees in psychology, sociology, and literary studies, as well as a particular set of skills and abilities, Gemma Wright works as a muse for artists in various creative fields. She can inspire a hit album; pull a popular novelist out of a writer's block; or organize an international tour for a dance company.

Gemma has strict rules and a precise plan for her personal life - and Jack Richards, a famous mystery writer, definitely doesn't fit her criteria. Perhaps, his direct competitor, John Barnett, with his soft manners and seemingly humble disposition, is a better match for Gemma than the dark and handsome Richards.

Understanding others and leading them to the fulfilling and rewarding life is Gemma's specialty, but does she know the answers to the same questions when it comes to her own life?

{Updated every Thursday!}

 **4\. A romance/erotica/drama webserial "Dr. T Series" on my blog kolmakov dot ca**

Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

{Updated every Saturday!}

 _ **My ART is available on:**_

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 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!

* * *

 **Summary:**

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


	45. A Proposition

**Author's Note : This chapter is the classical kkolmakov 'Ka…' **

**And 'Boom!' will happen in the next one. Are you buckled in? :D**

* * *

 **Author's Note #2 : Quickly, quickly! Go to ****inkitt dot com** **, and claim a free copy of my story "Due North!" There are less and less left every moment!**

 **Thorin as a hot Canadian farmer, and Werna/Wren as a spinster librarian from London; and there is a ghost of the 1910s naval officer; a treasure map; and a magic ring. It's silly! It's funny! It's a feel good romance, and humour, and lots of info about my beloved Manitoba, which you didn't know you wanted to know :D**

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 **Katya Kolmakov**

* * *

 _The next day…_

Dania walked into the Grand Hall one of the first. Courtiers were still rushing by, bringing platters and goblets to the tables. A few Dwarves from among the warriors from the Iron Hills stood near the staircase that led to the mezzanine, and Dania gave them a decourous nod, and passed by. She was looking for the King.

He was standing in one of the alcoves, talking to Lord Roin, one of the closest counsellors of Dania's Uncle. The Dwarf was limp, one-eyed, and grey haired. He was also still among Dania's suitors, despite their age difference. His eyes lit up, as she approached. It perhaps had to do with the low cut velvet dress her seamstress had finally brought to her from the hills.

"My lords," Dania addressed the men, and both gave her a bow. The King smiled to her, and she gave him an attentive look over. Something had changed in his bearing, but she could not quite pinpoint it. "My lord Thorin, could I have a word with you? In private," she added, and from the corner of her saw Lord Roin shifted unhappily.

"Of course," the King agreed, and nodding to the other man, he looped his arm and offered it to her.

They walked slowly, along the mezzanine, meeting almost no guests mostly were gathering around the tables, searching for the best spots, arguing about seating. The musicians had arrived as well, and discorded noises of the instruments carried through the hall.

Dania waited till the King and herself were near a narrow entrance leading into a passage to the next hall, connecting two mezzanines between them; and she slowed down, and threw a discreet glance at the man. King Thorin seemed distracted, his eyes wandered the hall underneath; and a strange expression, which Dania just could not decipher was on his noble face. Sometimes it seemed that a smile was hiding in the corners of his lips. Sometimes he would frown slightly, still lost in his thoughts.

Dania carefully but insistently steered him into the passage, and he followed. They have passed under the arch, when he seemed to have shaken off his pensiveness, and looked around. Dania pretended not to notice, and continued walking.

They were now on the other side of the corridor, on a mezzanine over the next hall, not a soul around them.

She released the King's arm and stopped in front of him, cutting him off from the path out.

"I need to speak with you, my lord. I apologise for this blatant kidnapping, but the matter is of the delicate mature. And I also do not think we should delay solving the current aggravation," she spoke smoothly, keeping their eyes locked.

One black eyebrow twitched; and he gave her one of his tilted polite nods, encouraging her to speak.

"In the light of my sister's injuries and her refusal to stay in Erebor, or return to the Iron Hills, I propose a solution. Rumours have been surrounding myself, her, and you, my lord; and it is time to put an end to them. Since many have known about your betrothal to Lady Dania, daughter of Lyr, at least in name..." She held a pause, watching his face intently. Nothing was written on it, only his eyes grew colder, their gaze sharper. "And since no one knows of what had happened during your quest, I propose you officially renew your association with me."

There was silence in the mezzanine now. Dania had expected it. The King had shown himself emotional the last time they had spoken, but Werna was in mortal danger then, and it had been right after the Battle. In the moons that had passed since then, Dania had seen the King in negotiations and at feasts. He was a man of unbendable will and admirable character.

Nonetheless, she had hardly anticipated such serene reaction from him. He studied her face, calmly, and the the corners of his lips curled up.

"I can hardly imagine that this proposal comes from your heart, Lady Dania. Something tells me you have not found yourself suddenly enamored with me."

Dania had never heard this voice of his - teasing, almost playful, with velvet notes weaved into the low baritone.

"Marriage between the people of our stature should not be based on fickle sentiment, in my opinion," Dania answered haughtily. "I could understand if you chose to marry my sister for emotional reasons. She had always been a passionate woman. But since the two of you have fallen apart, and she had chose the Halfling over you..." Dania trailed away, deciding that a quick jab of such offensive hint would be more efficient than prolonged explanations.

The King lowered his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"So, you propose a political marriage… That would not be unusual, although in most cases some 'fickle sentiment' is still involved in such matter," he drew out, and she shifted in frustration. She needed to see his face, to see how he reacted, whether her calculations had been correct - and she could not.

"You are a free man, my lord," she spoke in an even tone. "My family and my skills will make me the perfect Queen for Erebor. I'm highly sought out. I do not expect beauty to matter to you, I think too highly of you for that; but you cannot deny you find my looks enjoyable as any other Dwarf."

His bright blue eyes flew up, and there was now definitely a small smile playing on his lips.

"Only a blind and half-witted man would deny your merits as a companion, Lady Dania," he answered in a low voice.

It was time perhaps to place yet another blow.

"I feel that my sister's marriage to a Halfling will tarnish my family's name," she pronounced slowly, watching for the lightest change in his expression. "I wish to do the right thing by my kin, and honour my forefathers by putting my name near yours on the tapestries. After all, Werna, daughter of Lyr, the mistress of Bag End sound most deplorable." She added enough venom into her tone to curdle milk, as Werna used to say; and she could have been mistaken but it seemed he gritted his teeth stopping himself from his first response.

"Indeed, that would sound most… unusual," he answered, his eyes again lowered.

Dania waited; and then she saw his chest rise under the embroidered doublet, and he looked up and met her eyes.

"Have you discussed this with your sister, Lady Dania?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"No, but if my lord thinks my proposition worth considering, I will go to her immediately. She would be most delighted, I am certain." Dania gave him a tense smile.

"Perhaps..." he murmured, and then clenched his jaw, and stepped back from her. "I would like to ponder your proposition, Lady Dania."

"Of course, my lord," she agreed lightly, feeling quite triumphant.

It was time for the second half of her plan.

* * *

Werna was sitting on her cot in the infirmary, an open book on her lap. It was a history volume Master Baggins had brought for her from the library. He was helping with the restorations, Dania seemed to have heard. Werna of course was not reading. The book was open on the same page as the day before - and the day before it. Her eyes were on the curtain, separating her cot from the hall. Her gaze was distant.

Dania looked her over with the usual mixture of worry and the sense of helplessness. Dania detested how little Werna responded to her surroundings, and how little Dania seemed to be able to help. Despite what everyone was convinced of, Werna was the strong one. She was fast, adaptable; she had always been full of life, and fire. Dania had always found her sister's resilience and her optimism reassuring - something she knew she could rely on, something she could trust would always be there.

"Evening, sister."

Werna as usual did not answer, her eyes shifted, as if unseeing.

"I spoke to your healer," Dania said in a forced cheerful tone. "You seemed to have strained yourself yesterday, by that feat of yours, with a sudden disappearance, and hiding in a pantry. Not the wisest deed it was, was it?"

Dania sat on a stool near the cot, habitually occupied by the hobbit. He was of course at the revels tonight; everyone was.

"I have spoken to the King," Dania spoke nonchalantly, and Werna's body jolted. She looked at Dania, who pretended to be preoccupied by arranging her skirts around her knees. "We have discussed the frustrating situation with those old silly letters of yours, and the rumours about you two..." Dania watched Werna's lips twist, almost unnoticeably. Dania inhaled, bracing herself, and continued levelly, "And the two of us decided that the best way to proceed in this situation would be for him and myself to wed."

In the last two moons Dania saw - in dread and anguish - how sanity had been escaping Werna, her heart obviously broken, her mind in disarray. And then silence and stupor came. They frightened Dania only more. She was prepared to do anything to bring Werna back.

Werna was perhaps the only person in the world Dania loved. She was the only one whose feelings and emotions Dania did not disregard, despite her own loyalty solely to reason and rationality. Seeing Werna in her present state was a torture that Dania herself had never anticipated to suffer from.

Werna's right hand shifted, under the blanket, and she slowly turned her face to Dania. And only then Dania realised that something was different about her sister. Her eyes shone, for the first time since the Battle. There was light and life in them.

"That is most fascinating, sister," Werna answered in a mocking polite tone. "Perhaps, you misunderstood King Thorin. After all, he had declared his feeling for me yesterday, and spent this morning with me here, on this very cot. I am afraid, we have not behaved entirely decently."

Dania froze, and watched Werna's lips stretch in a sardonic grin.

"It seems your schemes and games have been quite unnecessary," Werna said, and lifted her right hand. The silver betrothal band with King Thorin's runes shone on her fourth finger. "Who's an orange headed rutabaga now?"

 _ **To be continued...**_

* * *

**YOU CAN ALSO FIND ME AT**

 **Blog: kolmakov dot ca**

 **1\. Facebook Writer's Page: /katyakolmakov**

{PLEASE, FOLLOW AND LIKE!}

 **2. AO3 (Archive of Our Own dot net) as kkolmakov**

 **3. Wattpad: Katya Kolmakov**

 **Romance/erotica webserial _Jack in the Box_**

Armed with several degrees in psychology, sociology, and literary studies, as well as a particular set of skills and abilities, Gemma Wright works as a muse for artists in various creative fields. She can inspire a hit album; pull a popular novelist out of a writer's block; or organize an international tour for a dance company.

Gemma has strict rules and a precise plan for her personal life - and Jack Richards, a famous mystery writer, definitely doesn't fit her criteria. Perhaps, his direct competitor, John Barnett, with his soft manners and seemingly humble disposition, is a better match for Gemma than the dark and handsome Richards.

Understanding others and leading them to the fulfilling and rewarding life is Gemma's specialty, but does she know the answers to the same questions when it comes to her own life?

{Updated every Thursday!}

 **4\. A romance/erotica/drama webserial "Dr. T Series" on my blog kolmakov dot ca**

Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

{Updated every Saturday!}

 **5. Inkitt dot com as Katya Kolmakov**

 **Romance/humour story _Due North_**

A spinster librarian, the ghost of a 1900s British naval officer, and a Canadian dreamboat come together in a story that will make a harlequin novel pale in comparison when it comes to cliches, hackneyed turns of speech, and predictable plot twists. Etta Ryan, a prude and a bluestocking, led on a journey to a mysterious place called Winnipeg, Manitoba, will encounter on her path an unnaturally attractive Canadian farmer; mysterious numbers disclosed to a long dead British officer at a medium seance; a treasure map; a secret cave; and much more. Welcome to the story where plot will make some sense, and a lot of Tim Horton's coffee is drunk!

{COMPLETE}

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* * *

 **My book on Amazon!**

 **CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paper!

* * *

 **Summary:**

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


	46. Forgiveness

**A/N: And BOOM! :D**

 **A/N#2: Did you go to inkitt dot com and pick up a free copy of my story _Due North_? There are less and less free copies left, and the more I give out by Feb. 14, the more chances I have to publish it. Please, click 'claim a free copy;' and if you have a moment, leave a review! Look for it in the Writing Contest (top left corner) in Amour Romance one. Seriously, I'd really like you to get it for free! Look for a picture of a male torso in a plaid shirt with lumberjack background :P Thorin as a Canadian farmer, Werna as a spinster librarian! Humour, romance, a ghost, a treasure map; and a lot of useless information on the life in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada :D**

 **Thank you for your support!**

 **Katya Kolmakov**

 **And now to Middle Earth!**

* * *

 _The day before..._

Thorin sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the table surface empty of all papers. A knock came to the door, and he jumped to his feet.

He barked, "Come in!" and the door opened. Dain walked in, limping, leaning on his axe, which he insisted on using as a walking cane these days. And then Thorin saw Werna, whom Dain was dragging after him, his hand tightly clasped around her upper arm.

"I found her, cousin. The daft girl was hiding in some dusty corner." Thorin looked at Werna's pale face and lowered eyes. "No better than her sister, this one. One runs away; another starts fussing about, demanding everyone to drop what they were doing, and search for her. The King was delayed for the feast because of you, _naithul_!" Dain gave Werna a small shake. Thorin quickly wondered if Dain remembered that Werna was a renowned warrior, almost two hundred years old, and seemed to have as much grey hair as he did. Apparently, being her guardian, although just a few decades older, had forever turned her into a child in Dain's eyes.

Thorin stood silent, just as she was, his eyes roaming her. He had not seen her for a moon and a half. First, after the visit of the Elvenking, she slept. Then, he was told she was awake; he rushed to the infirmary, but she was resting. And then he came, and saw her lying on the cot, with her eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling. His throat was clenched, and he had no words; he did not remember now, but it seemed he had said her name… and instead of looking at him, she turned away. And the same happened in his next three visits to the infirmary. He would move the curtain away and step to her; she would face the wall. And then Dania came to talk to him. She asked him to stop coming, and explained to him that Werna would grow agitated after his visits, terrors would torture her in her sleep, and they feared for her sanity.

She loved the Halfling, Thorin thought. That was the thought drumming from inside his skull, now that he was looking at her. She had chosen the Hobbit over him, then on the threshold of Erebor. Later, the two of them conspired to give the Arkenstone to the Elves; but it was of no importance. The latter was a decision that Bilbo, stuttering and twitching, explained to Thorin after the Battle. He said that it had been 'his, only his,' and it had been done only to save the company from the war with the Elves and the Men - and Bilbo 'would understand if Thorin still felt Bilbo was to be banished, or punished in any way, if Thorin saw it right, as the leader of the company, and now the king.' The only concession Bilbo begged for was to hold no blame over Werna. Thorin nodded then, and patted the Halfling's shoulder. The war was over; the old grievances were to be forgotten.

But she loved him; and Thorin was in the way.

"Leave us, Dain," he said quietly, and Ironfoot threw him a quick glance. He let go of Werna, and huffing and muttering under his breath headed for the door. Before closing it after him he threw Thorin a meaningful look, as if telling Thorin to not hold back. If Thorin was in a mood for jest, he'd laugh at Dain's illusions of his own parental authority.

The door closed, and silence fell in the room. Werna stood in the middle of the study, her cheeks now burning feverishly. Thorin shortly wondered whether she was to be escorted back into the infirmary.

"You have missed the celebrations," he finally spoke, and awkwardly cleared his throat. "The company is all well, and are treated as heroes. You are of course extolled as well. You have saved my life..." He trailed away, feeling he was saying all the wrong things. "Werna..."

Her face was lowered, and he slowly exhaled, searching for something to say.

"Your sister worries..." he started, but it seemed an even less promising beginning.

And then he saw how much her hands shook, and a blood stain on her tunic.

"You should go back to the infirmary..." He instinctively stepped to her, and she jolted, and shied away from him. "Werna..." Something snapped in him, and he grabbed her left shoulder.

A distressed throaty sound burst out of her, and she jerked, hiding her face from her, and he saw tears running down the chin.

"You do not… owe me anything," he blurted out. "You can go to him. We have not exchanged beads or rings, and..." He tangled in his words, and gritted his teeth, furious at his own inarticulateness.

She jerked her face up and stared at him. He realised he'd forgotten the unusual colour of her eyes.

"Bilbo..." she whispered, and Thorin let go of her shoulder, and moved away from her.

"Aye, Bilbo," he answered darkly. "I know you feel bound to me; but the betrothal was not formal; and… I release you of your obligations."

She was studying his face, frowning. And then she suddenly swayed, and started slumping. He caught her almost at the floor, and she yelped because he was not careful, and her stomach pressed in his forearm. He shifted, picking her under her arms.

"It is alright, alright… I will take you to the infirmary..." he murmured, and suddenly she wrapped her arms around his neck, and a loud raspy sob fell of her lips. "It is alright..." he continued muttering in a lost tone, not sure what to say, and trying to steer her to the door. But she was now clawing at him, and the sobs grew louder and more and more desperate. He was feeling almost terrified, since the conniption seemed to be as much as tearing at her body.

"Werna..." He knew not what to do! He had half a mind to call to someone, a courtier perhaps; a panicked thought that she needed restraining rushed through his mind; and then she suddenly grew limp. She weighed quite little now, but he felt so confused and unprepared that he swayed.

And then he realised that she was trying to speak, through the wails, and weeping.

"Please, stop… I cannot… Do not deserve this..." She was now hanging in his arms, and he felt blood on his hands, and her tears as if burnt at his neck.

Thorin pressed a hand into the back of her head, the soft curls tangling in his fingers. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her, painfully aware that it was most likely the last time he held her in his arms.

"It is alright..." Why he was still repeating these meaningless words? "Anyone can have a change of heart, Werna… Anyone… I have." He inhaled sharply. "I thought your sister wrote those letters, I did not know it had been you… And then I forgot all of it, and offered myself to you. There is no dishonour in giving your heart to another. And no one will know. The company will keep quiet. You can leave with the Halfling..."

To think of it, he was just as surprised as the cursed Elvenking at how forgiving and self-sacrificing he was showing himself these days. Perhaps, that was what love was - caring for another person more than himself, more than his pride, and his honour.

She shifted and moved away slightly, to look into his face. The eyes shone feverishly on the thinned, pallid face. He tried to smile to her, and brushed his thumb to her cheek.

"You are not… You do not despise me..." She sounded utterly astonished, and he finally managed a small smile.

"Why would I?"

"I lied about the letters… And the Arkenstone..." Her face distorted in a pained grimace, and he cupped her face firmly.

"It is all in the past, Werna. I have made peace with the Halfling. And again, no one knows. Just the company, and your sister."

"Amrod does…" she muttered, and he pressed his lips irked.

"Lady Dania seems to favour him, aye. He runs around her like a pup. I do not see what her schemes are."

"She thought I would be glad to see him..." Werna pressed a hand into his shoulder, and tried to straighten up. He remembered they were still standing in the middle of his study.

"Nonsensical woman," Thorin grumbled. "Why would she? To aggravate the Hobbit perhaps. Hardly anything she does makes sense..."

"Everything Dania says or does makes sense," Werna answered in a tired tone. "Everything is a scheme. Everything is a ruse..."

She looked down at her bloodied clothes and sighed. She was calming down now, the red spots were gone from the cheeks, and she looked wan and wearied.

"And I did not… I did not have a change of heart, Thorin. Leave me a shred of dignity, please." She gave out a bitter laugh. "My transgressions were not caused by mawkish infatuation with Master Baggins. My choices were sober, and thus only more deplorable."

Thorin froze, and watched her wipe her bloodied palm at the trouser leg on her left hip.

"Lady Dania said you had professed your love for him before the battle…" he said slowly, his eyes intent on her face. His breath had hitched, and he quickly pushed his free hand behind him, to hide the shaking.

The cat like eyes flew up, and her pale lips parted softly.

"What?! Was she inebriated?" she asked bewildered.

And then it seemed they both arrived at the same conclusion at the same time.

"What a swindler!" Werna hissed, her eyes going glassy. "Plotting, double-dealing, unscrupulous..."

"Werna," Thorin interrupted her, and she blinked and looked at him. "Have you reconsidered our association?"

He saw her throat move when she swallowed spasmodically. She dropped her eyes, and whispered, "What does it matter now? After everything that I have done..."

"I do not care," he interrupted her.

"You cannot possibly…" She shook her head. "You are being kind, and… How am I to live with this dishonour?" she exclaimed, finally facing him. Her lips trembled. "How will I look the company in the eyes?"

"Don't," he answered, and suddenly it was easier to breathe. He just needed to explain it to her. "Don't look in their eyes. Look in mine." She gave him a confused look, and he laughed - at his own awkward joke, from the relief, and how easy and clear it all suddenly seemed. "Werna, don't you see? It is all… simple. We won. We lived. The past is..."

Nothing convincing or at least coherent seemed to come out, and he just took a large step to her and picked up her hands. She tried to pull them away, but he did not let her.

"Thorin, I..."

"I do not care," he repeated, and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. "I do not care, Werna. I know I should… and I know you do… But it was a war. And you made a decision… Would you have done it differently now?"

She sniffled, the tears ran down the cheeks, and then she shook her head.

"I would not have. I would have given up my honour for you again..." she whispered, and he picked up her chin and made her meet his eyes.

"I was prepared to do anything to persuade the Elf to come to heal you. I would have given him anything… All the gold in Erebor, my crown… My honour..." He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. " _Men lananubukhs menu.._."

"And I you..." she whispered, and sobbed. "Mahal help me, I do..." She then rushed, and embraced him tightly around his neck.

He pressed her shaking body into him, and for a few instants they were still. His mind had just strayed to perhaps a buss, when she exhaled raspily, with a small moan at the end.

"I am afraid, I need to… the infirmary..." she muttered, and he internally berated his idiotism.

"Of course, of course..." He released her, and she swayed, and leaned into him. He led her to the door, but when his palm almost lay on the handle, she caught the hand.

"Thorin… Are we..?" she stammered, and he searched her face, trying to understand what she was asking about. She gave him an uncertain look. "Does it mean we are... betrothed again then?" By the end her voice dropped into a hardly audible whisper.

He smiled to her, and leaned in, and brushed his lips to her, not allowing himself to get carried away. Both their tunics were soaked in her blood, and she was hardly standing.

"We have never ceased, _bunnanunê_." She hid her face in his shoulder, and they slowly started walking to the infirmary.

 ** _To be continued..._**

* * *

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Understanding others and leading them to the fulfilling and rewarding life is Gemma's specialty, but does she know the answers to the same questions when it comes to her own life?

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Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

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 **Summary:**

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


	47. Bilbo

**_Author's Note:_**

 ** _Please, read the personal note after the chapter, and don't miss the second half of today's update._**

* * *

 _The night after the second day of the final feast..._

Bilbo quietly walked through the infirmary, all his Hobbit skills of invisibility and silence applied; and following the familiar path between the cots he approached Werna's solar. It was just before dawn; and the injured slept, many groaning and moaning in their sleep. Bilbo habitually held his breath, after all these moons still feeling quite sick from the smells of blood, flesh, and balms.

He would not have come unannounced, and at this hour, of course; but it was his last chance to see her.

He carefully picked up the curtain and moved it aside. Her cot was empty.

Bilbo stared at it for a few seconds - the neatly tucked in clean sheets, and the bedroom with a fresh cloth on it. He had thrown aside his first panicked thought that she had fallen iller, or even had to be rushed into a surgical room. She had been feeling quite well before; except for her morale; and after all he had seen her sitting on this very cot just the day before. Her belongings were still there, on the side table - the book she had been reading for the last fortnight; a dark red scarf she had been wrapping around her neck when going for her walks; a mug Bilbo had refilled with water so many times.

She had been moved into inner chambers, then, Bilbo assumed; and felt relief wash over him. With each day, the mountain was looking more and more hospitable, lived in. Families were arriving, to join the warriors. Bilbo had seen a small flock of children run the passages the other day.

He knew that the Iron Hills army was to head back to their homeland after the next day's celebrations - but he did not know whether Werna was to join them. After all, he was just a Hobbit; no one was telling him anything.

He was, in no way, treated poorly. Since Thorin made a public spectacle out of making peace with him, and had been polite and cordial with him, the company seemed to have forgotten the incident at the battlements. He was treated just as any other member of the company, to think of it - as a hero of the Quest for Erebor. Besides the Gondorian - whom Bilbo still preferred to avoid at all cost - Bilbo was the only non Dwarf in Erebor; and contrary to his expectations, he was looked at as a curiosity and a marvel, and not as an intruder. He was conversed to; invited to join smaller parties that would spontaneously happen here and there in the mountain; and even once randomly kissed in a passage. A young Dwarven maiden ran up to him, and before he understood what her intentions were, she grabbed his ears, pulled him in, and pressed her lips to his. She then thanked him, giggled, and ran back to a small group of other younglings. They all laughed - not with a malice, but joyfully - waved to him, and scampered off. Bilbo stood in the passage dumbfounded - and still was not sure what it was about, to this day.

One thing was clear to Bilbo. Werna had not been considered Thorin's betrothed. She stayed in the infirmary, while her sister and Uncle resided somewhere in the Lower Levels of the mountain. Out of the conversations with the company Bilbo summoned that that was where the Royal Halls had been before; and that was where the guests now lived. He initially assumed that Werna was too weak to be moved there; but then Lady Dania mentioned to him in passing that Werna had refused it herself. Bilbo had also noticed that Thorin had not been visiting her.

Bilbo came into the solar and sat down on the cot. Whether she was too stay in Erebor, or go back with her family - she did not need Bilbo either way. It just would have been nice to see her one last time - just a glance perhaps; not even a conversation. And he wished he had had something to leave her as a token, as a small reminder of him - but he did not even have his acorn buttons anymore. He absent-mindedly pushed his hand in the pocket, but there was nothing but his golden ring from Gollum's caves in it. He doubted for an instant, but then stuffed it back, trying not to think of how horrified he immediately was of the thought of giving it up.

And then he rose, and with the last glance on her table he left.

He was turning around a corner when a voice called after him from behind.

"Leaving us already, Master Burglar?"

Bilbo pressed his head into his shoulders. Out of all Dwarves he could have met!

"Ummm… Yes, I would think… it is about time..."

Thorin walked up to him. Bilbo opened his mouth to continue his mumbling, when he froze, with his jaw slacked, staring at the King. Thorin was dressed in a fresh shirt and a doublet, and for some reason his hair was wet. He also held a small bunch of mint plants in his hand; and as absurd as it seems, he seems to be industriously chewing a few leaves.

It was close to dawn, and the mountain shook from boisterous revels on all its levels, with the exception of the infirmary perhaps. Bilbo couldn't imagine what Thorin could be doing in the passage.

"And empty-handed I presume?" Thorin asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Well… that's not why… that was not the point of the adventure really..." Bilbo muttered, still unable to tear his eyes off the somewhat withered leaves in Thorin's hand.

"You have deserved your reward, Master Burglar. You have fulfilled your contract." Thorin pushed the mint on the nearest surface, and patted his hands shaking the pieces of leaves off them.

Bilbo looked into his face. The cheeks above the beard were flushed, and the eyes shone. The King was clearly inebriated, but sobering up. Perhaps, the bath and the mint served this exact purpose.

"She will not be pleased if you just sneak away, Master Baggins," Thorin drew out impishly, and pointed with his eyes at Bilbo's rucksack and the walking stick.

"She?" Bilbo asked, and then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Oh, Lady Werna, you mean..."

"You are her friend, Master Baggins," Thorin said softly, and Bilbo jerked his face up and stared at the Dwarf. Thorin was smiling warmly. "You saved her life in battle. She might take offence if you leave without saying goodbye."

"I meant no offence!" Bilbo rushed to reassure. "I went to the infirmary, but she was not there..."

"She had been moved into guest chambers," Thorin answered.

"Oh, well… It is the middle of the night, I would not want to disturb..." Thorin gave the Hobbit a long look, and the latter trailed away.

"The decision is yours, Master Burglar - as are your relations with Lady Werna." Thorin's heavy hand lay on Bilbo's shoulder. "But I do not wish to be ungrateful. Have you taken the mithril shirt you had been given at least?"

"I have, yes," Bilbo nodded. "And I took my sword."

"Go to the treasury before you leave as well," Thorin said. "Take anything you wish."

All Bilbo wished for, to be honest, was to ensure Werna's absolution. They had not discussed it, but he could see how distraught she was over her decision to have supported Bilbo when he took the Arkenstone to the Elves and Men. Bilbo also remembered how she had cried to Thorin on the battlement - not to be kind to her. In Bilbo's eyes both him and Werna had acted for Thorin's sake - only to protect the company and to save him - but he could see quite clearly that the Dwarves saw the matter in a different light.

She was a Dwarf, Bilbo had to remind himself of it quite often. And as understanding and tolerant as she had always been; he knew she had viewed everything that happened the way her kin would. To think of it, the fact that she had had even the smallest bit of affection for Bilbo - he would never forget the kisses of course - had been out of the ordinary. She belonged with Thorin - but how was poor Hobbit to ensure it?

"You see, Thorin..." Bilbo started, and his nose twitched. "The matter is that I truly considered the… the Arkenstone my share of the treasure, and I had decided then what to do with it..." Bilbo coughed and peeked. Thorin was giving him an unreadable calm look. "I see now that it had been… That for you, as a Dwarf it had been a terrible offence, but I believed I acted honourably… And Werna..." When her name fell off his lips, Bilbo felt sudden Tookish daring spirit wake up in him. He squared his shoulders. "And you have to forgive Werna, as you have forgiven me - for which I am very much obliged, I have to say again." Bilbo lifted his index finger. "I know I am no Dwarf and that was why I received your pardon, but Werna..."

"She has been forgiven as well, Master Baggins," Thorin interrupted him softly, and Bilbo froze with his mouth half-open. "And I have been as well. For my intolerance, and for not… not seeing what the true value of this quest and its prize are."

Bilbo closed his mouth, and sniffled couple times.

"Well, and I will leave you at that then," he said simply, patted Thorin's hand on his shoulder; and the Dwarf squeezed it for an instant, and then took step back.

"Farewell, Master Baggins," Thorin said quietly, and their eyes met.

"Goodbye, Thorin," Bilbo answered, twirled on his heels, and marched away.

He was turning left, towards the staircase that led up and towards the Gates, when he heard Thorin's voice from behind, "The treasury is the other way around, Master Baggins."

Bilbo sighed, turned around, and muttering, 'I am going, I am going...' he walked right, towards the chambers where the hoard of Erebor was counted and organized these days.

"One small chest… Only one small chest..." he mumbled under his breath.

* * *

 **Personal note:**

 **When I first started writing this post, I was going to start by apologizing for my absence in any of my media (writing or art related) recently; but then I felt it would be presumptuous of me to apologize for not updating because it would mean that by not writing I was taking something away from my readers. I've seen other writers say it, and may have done it myself, but wouldn't it mean that the readers were expected to sit around and wait for updates, and sigh, and wonder where their beloved author was? And that would be just a tad too arrogant for me :)**

 **So, I'll just say, here I am :) It's been a very difficult couple of weeks (damn my oversensitive, depression prone INFJ personality); but I'm crawling out of it (with the help of my dear friends, herbs, healthier diet, and jogging - so no fun as you can see :D)**

 **Now that my personal rant is over, here is a piece of actual news:**

 **1\. Starting May, I'll have to find a job since my government funding will be over, so for now I'll be slowly cutting down and finishing up most of my FF writing.**

 **2\. I will still continue writing on Wattpad (the name is Katya Kolmakov); two modern webserials; with Thorin inspired male protagonists; and ginger female protagonists - so come and have a look!**

 **3\. One of the webserials is also published on my blog: kolmakov dot ca; and I'll still be writing my long-running _Dr T Series_ on it for now; so check it out as well if you're interested.**

 **4\. On my blog you can find links to my other media, for drawings and polymer clay - feel free to have a peek!**

 **5\. I'll be writing an E-webserial and will be selling it on Etsy (a humorous whodunit with my illustrations), I'll keep you posted.**

 **6\. Just a reminder that I have a writer's Facebook (/katyakolmakov) and Instagram (Katya Kolmakov). Have a peek if you're curious! All links can be found on my blog.**

 **Alright, that's enough about me :) Go read the second chapter! ;)**

 **Love you all dearly,**

 **Katya Kolmakov**


	48. Mint and Answers

**A/N: Don't miss the chapter before it. It's a double update today :)**

* * *

Thorin stopped in front of the door, and lifted his hand to knock. And then he halted - and for quite a nonsensical reason. He was savouring the anticipation. He closed his eyes, and took a slow breath in.

She was inside, waiting for him, just as they had agreed on when he had come to visit her in the morning. He had offered himself, and kept chuckling at his own eagerness - for him to escape mid-feast, when no one would notice, and visit her. She agreed readily, her cheeks flushed. She slept too much these days, she said; she would wait for him.

He rushed from the feast, but mid-way he'd noticed how rumpled his clothes were, and how the smell of the revels, with its mead, and the smoke, was emanating from his doublet; and he hasted to his chambers. There he found a bucket of cold water - they were still living in the most barren circumstances - and he lathered soap, and toppled the bucket over himself, to wash the hair, but mostly to shake off the inebriation.

He was marching to her room, when he passed one of the many kitchens working in Erebor round-the-clock; and he saw bunches of herbs on the cook's table. She would kiss him when he came, he thought. And he would kiss her. The thought was endlessly pleasurable. So he stepped quickly into the room; the Dwarves inside stared at him; and he greeted them with a cordial nod, snatched some mint, and fled. The thought of their flabbergasted faces made him chortle.

Thorin knocked, and quickly opened the door without waiting for an answer.

She was asleep. The candle was burning on the side table near her bed, and the book lay on her lap, and he stopped. The copper curls were scattered on the pillow, and low on her nose there was a pair of glasses. Thorin gave her an endeared smile. She was an excellent shot, he knew it about her. So, it was just the age.

He took a step back and was going to leave, when she stirred, and her eyes opened slowly.

"Oh..." she exhaled, the red lips rounding; and then she sat up sharply. Her hand flew to her nose, and she snatched the glasses. Her habitual blush spilled on her cheeks. "Evening..."

"Evening, my heart," he answered, and stepped to the bed.

"I have been hiding them under the pillow… when people would visit. And from you..." she muttered, and twirled the glasses in her hand. "Dania brought them for me. I cannot read without them..."

"Neither can I..." Thorin admitted with surprising ease; and she gaped at him. "We are not that young, are we?"

He sat on the edge of her bed, and she gave him a shy smile. He considered reassuring her that they still had plenty of time, and that he in no way felt old, but then he decided actions spoke better than words. He leaned in and caught her mouth. She eagerly answered, and then her arms wrapped around his neck. He cupped the head with his right hand, feeling soft waves under his palm; and he snaked the left arm around her waist.

"You smell of mint..." she whispered into his lips, after a few minutes of passionate busses, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. "I am so disgustingly thinned now..."

He had not noticed. It felt wonderful to hold her in his arms, and he remembered to be mindful of her injuries; but he was hardly measuring her width, or comparing her with the memories from before.

"You are beautiful..." he whispered, and dove, pressing his lips to her neck.

The day before, their caresses had been restrained; they had been getting used to each other anew. And now still, she held back, while he was heating up faster and faster. He wondered if there was something to say here, to make her feel more at ease. After all, all was finally well.

"Werna..." he whispered; and as usual no smooth words and convincing phrases came. He internally cursed his lack of eloquence. He searched his mind, but all that came out was, "Dain is returning to the Iron Hills the day after tomorrow."

She moved away from him slightly, without leaving the circle of his arms, and gave him a questioning glance.

Again, all what he thought and wished to say fell from his lips in one simple question.

"Will you stay?"

She frowned slightly; just as she had then, in the Skinchanger's house when he had proposed courtship to her; and her lips moved in the same silent muttering. But unlike then, when he craved her but felt he had no right to ask for anything of her, today he saw no obstacle and wanted to hear of none.

"Werna?" he asked insistently, and she pressed her lips, tense lines lying near her mouth.

"Is it not too early?" she asked in a low voice, and he brushed his thumb to the side of her jaw.

"Too early for what? For announcing our betrothal?"

She nodded, and gave out a long sigh. "I do not feel I have deserved forgiveness yet. And my… transgressions are still fresh in everyone's memory, and..."

"Werna, no rumours have spread. Your sister and the Gondorian are the only ones outside the company who know. And I have made sure everyone knows I do not condemn these actions, and that it was Master Baggins who made this decision." Werna chewed at her bottom lip.

"And what about the lies… the letters all those years ago, and..." she started again, her tone even more pained, and he cupped her face, and lifted her chin, making her look at him. She cowardly shifted her eyes.

"As dishonest as it was, my heart, it is also quite flattering," he whispered, and she stared at him bewildered. "You stole me from your sister. And I know you, Werna, daughter of Lyr. You are honourable to the extreme. And yet you lied and conspired to have me for yourself. I feel quite treasured." He gave her a smile, and she gave out a small uncertain laugh.

"I could not help it… You kissed me in the drawing room, just over there..." She pointed at the ceiling, where somewhere in ruins lay that very room he had held her in his arms for the first time. He looked up, although there was nothing to see ther; and chuckled. "You kissed me, and I could not give you up…" Her face grew serious again. "Whatever happened between us… people knew you had been betrothed to Dania. There had been a formal announcement, and..."

"Our betrothal will not be news for people. And it will be greeted with glee." Thorin shook his head. "We have reclaimed Erebor. Everyone is joyous. I am the King now, and I get to choose my Queen. And you get to choose a husband for yourself freely." He quickly pressed his lips to her cheek. "Allow me to announce it at the feast tomorrow." He searched her eyes. "Or better so, come with me, if you feel up to it."

"I am well enough to go, Thorin… but I have been hiding from the world for so long, I do not know if I can face all those people..." she muttered, and then she lunged ahead and pressed into him. "I… crave you, and being your wife… but I do not know if I am ready to be the Queen of Erebor. Or if I ever have been..."

"You knew you would have to be the Queen when you accepted me, Werna. And before, you would have been the Queen in the Exile," Thorin reminded her, and she sighed into his neck.

"You can count it among other compliments to you, Thorin - I never wished to be a queen," she whispered. "I just wanted you." He stroked the silky curls, and kissed her temple. She straightened then, and gave him a firm look. "It does not mean I will not accept this responsibility now."

"I do not doubt you, my firebird," he answered tenderly, and she pressed her cheek to his.

"I had a strange dream, when I was recovering after the battle," she spoke quietly. "As if I was lying on the battlefield, and you held me… and you called me _arsuna,_ 'my flame,' and 'firebird...'" She sighed and rubbed her nose to his cheek above the beard. "It was a good dream..."

"It was not a dream..." he whispered, and she looked at him, her eyes widened. "I had been so scared for you..."

"You were supposed to despise me then, Thorin..."

"I never have, Werna. Never." He shook his head. "I went into battle, and all I could think of was… that it just did not matter. None of it..." The thought had been on his mind for so long, but again he felt he could not explain well. He looked at her, and saw her eyes shine with affectionate attention. "Getting the Mountain back, even before the Elves and the Men came… it had felt empty."

She tenderly moved a strand of hair that had fallen on his face and smiled to him melancholically. "You have paid a high price for it. It had been a long quest, and you almost lost Kili..."

"I also almost lost you," he interrupted her, and she frowned in confusion. "Not almost, really… You chose to stay with Bilbo when we couldn't open the door, remember?" She pressed her lips in distress. He picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, trying to show her he spoke without judgement. "And you were right. And then you went after him… and again you were right. I just did not listen… I was prepared to fight the Elf and the Bargeman, for Erebor, and for the Arkenstone… But all I felt was… lost. Nothing mattered. And after the victory even, nothing mattered. Have you heard the saying, _your kin are the treasure of your halls_? What was the point of the Mountain if I could not share it with my kin? With you..."

She once again wrapped her arms around his neck; and he exhaled in relief, seeing that she, Mahal bless her, understood.

"It is over now, my darling," she whispered tenderly, and he saw love dance in her fire opal eyes. "Like you said, we won. All is well now." He nodded gravely, and then threw her a hopeful look.

"Will you go to the feast with me tomorrow, Werna? To announce it?"

"I will, Thorin," she answered firmly, and he pulled her in, and kissed her.

A few minutes later, Thorin moved deeper onto her bed, and she seemed soft and trusting, and he wondered if she would object to more closeness. He kissed and pulled her towards him, cajoling; and saw her throw a side glance at him. She then smirked and shifted, climbing onto his lap. The tunic and trousers on her were thin, and smelled fresh and sweet. He could feel her warm body under them - and he confirmed to himself that indeed the announcement should be made as soon as possible. And surely, a hasty wedding would be very much appropriate in this time of celebration. Everyone would understand, and no one would judge. They had a mountain to fill with feasts, joy, and… children.

 _ **To be continued... And soon to be completed.**_


	49. Sapphire and Fire Opal

Werna woke up; and without opening her eyes she pushed her hand on the sheets near her. She was alone. It was to be expected, but she could not help but feel a small pang of disappointment. She had fallen asleep in the King's arms, and it seemed to have been the first night in many moons that she slept without nightmares.

She heavily sat up on the cot, with a small groan. Her wounds bothered her; and she had often wondered whether it had been her dispirited state that was not allowing her to heal as fast as before.

And then she remembered that all was well now. Erebor had been reclaimed; and Thorin and her were now betrothed - and he wished to announce it to everyone openly at the feast. The company was safe and somewhat unscathed. And her transgressions were now to turn into scars and painful memories, but nothing else.

Werna lifted her right hand and looked at Thorin's ring. He had given it to her the day before, in the morning when he visited her. It was his, the one he had worn through the quest, and resized to fit her smaller finger. He put it on her hand, and before she could say anything he caught her mouth in a passionate kiss.

The memory brought Werna's mind on the question of his caresses... and how much it bothered her. She had desired him for so long! She had craved his touch. She had even behaved inappropriately when she had run into him bathing at the Skinchanger's house! She loved him, and she had always been aware of his attractiveness. And yet, now - when she could have him, touch him, kiss him - she felt numb. They were to be married! It had only been two days, but he seemed to have embraced their new association easily. At any moment his hand would be touching her. He was not at all inconsiderate, or lewd, of course; respect and tenderness were in each of his gestures. And yet, Werna felt stiff, awkward, worried to blunder.

She made a distressed noise. She had no one to ask for advice, or simply tell of her worries. She could only hope that time would amend her unease.

After a bath, and a quick meal, she decided it was quite enough to hide in the room, and she was now to face the outside world. She got dressed, wrapped in a cloak, and realized that her favourite scarf was still in the infirmary. She was only happy to have a goal now, and she slowly walked into the passage.

The mountain was full of life. Dwarves were passing her, busy and merry - some would bow, some nodded. She could hear distant noises of works. The air inside was full of familiar smells - of forges, and food being prepared - just as in the Iron Hills.

She met two acquaintances on the way. The first one was a warrior from the Iron Hills. He was with his wife; and after introductions, the woman happily told Werna that they were considering to stay in Erebor. She was a seamstress; and Werna felt almost amused at the woman's careful inquiries whether Werna was intending to stay in the Mountain as well; and if so, whether her tailoring services could be required. Werna answered vaguely, still not prepared to discuss her plans.

The second person was Dori. He was rushing by, his hands full of some schematics. Upon seeing her, he stopped abruptly, and bowed to her lowly.

"Lady Werna! It is such a pleasure to see you on the mend!" His face broke into a wide smile.

They had formed amicable relationship through the Quest, but Werna could see some new veneration in the Dwarf's manner. Werna sighed. She supposed she was to get used to it now; she was to be a Queen. Perhaps, it was just her disquiet, but somehow at the moment the thought deeply upset her.

She had a short conversation with the Dwarf, and then excused herself and walked to the infirmary.

Her cot was empty, and she sat on its edge. Her book and the scarf were on the side table, and Werna brushed her fingers to the cover of the volume. It was the history of Khazad-Dum, in Khuzdul; and she remembered how Bilbo offered to read it to her, and then looked down at the page, and started making his usual nervous huffing noises.

She wondered if he had already left the Mountain. She had expected him to. That would be so much like her Hobbit - just to quietly slip away, thinking this way he would not bother anyone.

And then a mad thought came. She could do the same. She could pack provisions, and pick up some fitting weapons in the armoury; and leave.

To see the road again, to sleep under stars, to smoke by the fire of a camp…

Werna sighed, picked up her scarf, and left the infirmary. She returned to her room, not willing to wander anymore. A walk seemed a poor replacement for a momentary fantasy of hers, and she took off the outer garment and climbed back into her bed.

* * *

A knock at the door woke her up. She had no time to decide whether she wanted to allow a visitor in, when the door opened and Dania walked in, with her maid Avra in tow.

"I brought Arva to dress you and do your hair," Dania stated, and the maid stepped ahead, with an opulent dark navy dress in her hands. "And the dress, of course."

Werna shifted and sat up against the headboard. Her head was aching, some strange tense pain splashing behind her temples.

"Dania, I was asleep."

"While you should not be. There are only two hours left till the beginning of the final feast. It is time you get up and act your part." Dania waved towards the door, and Arva put the dress down and walked out of the room, no doubt to fetch water for a bath.

"And which part would that be?" Werna asked quietly, watching Dania pull out brushes, beads, and jewellery out of her belt pouch.

"The Queen of Longbeards, you clot," Dania grumbled absent-mindedly, her eyes on the beads she was arranging on the table. "Look at the dress. It's your favourite violet blue, but darker, to match Thorin's attire. And I have amad's sapphire necklace for you."

"You brought jewellery coming into a battle?" Werna muttered in disbelief.

"Of course, not," Dania scoffed. "I sent a courier for them right after the victory. It was clear if you both lived he would propose, considering the lament over your body on the field." Dania lifted a necklace and showed it to Werna. "What do you think?"

"Dania, my eyes are of fire opal colour. And I have a set that Father had commissioned for my betrothal when we were children." Werna was feeling dizzy, and her voice was lifeless.

"Sapphires will work better," Dania answered offhandedly, and took out heavy earrings from a velvet pouch. "To match your future husband's eyes and the Durin's blue. I had these commissioned before the quest. I am happy they were completed in time."

Werna did not know what to say.

"You are very proud of yourself, are you not?" she whispered, and Dania gave her a long calm look. "You think you had brought us together. And you have schemed and planned from the start. You pushed me in his arms. You helped me with the letters. You gave me that final letter, the one that made him take me with him. It does not bother you at all what price we have paid for being together now, does it?"

Dania's mouth twisted in a disdainful smirk. "Which price would that be, namad?"

"The lies, Dania. A lie tarnishes one's heart. I am endlessly fortunate Thorin is willing to forgive me and forget the deception; but I never will be able to. I made him doubt himself. I will carry this blame on me till the day I die..." Werna's voice broke. "And then you lied about Bilbo… To make Thorin jealous..."

Some acidic burning was spilling in her chest, and Werna gulped air with open mouth. Dania studied her face; and whatever she saw made her press her lips in a tight line, the expression in her eyes growing cold and defensive.

"In case you had any doubts, the Halfling is gone," Dania said. "I made sure of it. The Queen of Erebor cannot harbour some preposterous weakness for a thing like him..."

"Get out."

Dania froze, and Werna suddenly felt air rush into her lungs, seemingly for the first time in years as well. She narrowed her eyes at Dania.

"Get out of my room. Take the dress and the jewellery. Take you maid. And get out. And I do not wish to hear a word from you till you leave Erebor."

Dania lifted her chin and gave Werna an haughty look.

The silence was long and charged, and then Dania scooped jewellery into her bag. She then slowly came up to the dress and carefully picked it up.

She then looked at Werna over her shoulder, and smiled her usual smile - elegant, never reaching the eyes.

"Have a good day, my Queen."

The door behind her closed silently, and Werna hid her face into her hands. And then she jerked them back, and grabbed a doublet off a chair near the bed.

* * *

She ran the passages, clumsily pushing the arm into a sleeve.

He was not in the library, and the Dwarves who were balancing on the sliding ladders told her he was to be in a small room adjoin to the Chamber of Thror where his study had been organized. She rushed there, but the room was empty.

She fortunately ran into Dori again, and he directed her towards the Great Gates, where Thorin was supposed to supervise the restoration of the gate leaves.

By the time she reached him, she was out of breath, and everything shook. She saw him from the landing of the stairs, and called to him. Her voice was weak, but he heard and lifted his face. The bright blue eyes - just as the sapphire in her mother's necklace - shone; and Werna lunged ahead. She ran down the stairs, and across the hall - he started walking quickly towards her when she'd reached the bottom step - and she threw herself into his arms. They went around her, the tight and warm circle, and she buried her face into his chest.

"I love you..." she whispered, and felt his hand cupping the back of her head in a comforting gesture.

"And I you," he answered in a low voice, warm and familiar, and she bit into her bottom lip stifling a sob.

"I… I need your help," she muttered, and felt him press his cheek to the top of her head.

"Anything, my heart," he answered, and she wrapped her arms around his middle.

"I need jewellery. For the feast. I… I want… I need something of my own." She knew she was not explaining well. The first tears rolled onto her eyes, and she fought them.

"Come with me," he said, and picked up her hand, and pulled him after him.

He led her through the passages, and she kept her eyes down, hoping no one would see the redness and the pink nose. When she lifted her eyes she realized she was in a room she had never visited before. And then she guessed it was his bedchamber. It was bare, just a narrow bed, a desk, and a few trunks by the wall. Werna gave him a confused look.

He pulled at the chain around his neck, and she saw a small key. He opened a chest on his escritoire, and beckoned her. Werna stepped closer.

"This is the Arzadul, 'The One Like Blaze.'" Werna stood, mesmerized, her eyes fixed on an opulent necklace of fire opals and pink diamonds. "It had been crafted in the Grey Mountains, at the times of Dain I. I was hoping to add earrings and a bracelet to it before gifting it to you. But it is yours now, if you are willing to take it alone."

Werna slowly lifted her eyes. Her lips were trembling.

"Would you judge me if I wore trousers and a tunic to the feast?" she asked raspily, and he gave her a soft smile.

"With all my heart, my firebird..." he started, and stepped to her. "I do not give a damn."

Werna threw her arms around his neck, and pressed into him.

* * *

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 **Summary:**

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


	50. New Day

**A/N: Here is the penultimate chapter, my darlings! In the next one I'm planning to tell about Thorin and Werna's family; Kili and Fili, and what is to happen with them; there will be a visit to Bilbo. If there's anything else you would like to see wrapped up, let me know in the reviews!**

 **Love you all ardently,**

 **Katya**

* * *

A knock came to Werna's door, and she allowed the visitor in. It was Braga, daughter of Tod, the seamstress from the Iron Hills Werna had met the day before. The Dwarf was a merry ambitious lass - and exactly what Werna needed at the moment.

"There is a feast in two hours, Mistress Braga," Werna said, after the woman sat on the crate that served as a chair in Werna's room. "And my betrothal to the King will be announced at it. If you make me a worthy bride for the King of the Longbeards before that, you have the position of the Queen's tailor reserved for you."

The woman's large brown eyes lit up.

"My sister is a hairmaster. Shall I make the same promise to her?" she asked cheekily, and Werna laughed and nodded.

The woman jumped up to her feet. "No time to sit. I shall send my sister to you right away. She will arrange a bath and some balms and creams, and I will be back with a dress." She stopped shortly by the door and gave Werna a look over. "Fern green?"

Werna nodded again gleefully. "I have a fire opal and pink diamonds necklace, and my old diamond earrings."

"Excellent," the woman answered and disappeared, muttering something under her nose, and making vague wide gestures in the air with her hands, probably planning some alterations in her head.

Werna closed her eyes and took a long calming breath in.

* * *

By the time the King came to her room to escort her to the Great Hall, she was so nervous that Thea, her new chamber maid jested that the pins would fall out of her hairdo. Werna seemed to have lost all sense of humour by then and rushed to the mirror to make sure the pins were indeed in place, causing the two other Dwarven ladies to burst into laughter.

The hairdo was in order and quite perfect to Werna's taste. It was simpler than many women wore, three braides went around her head, and a few plaits and strands were left out, curls dancing around her neck. Thea had made good use of the grey hair hiding under the copper mass of Werna's hair - and now, the lowest braid at the back of her head looked as if finished with mithril.

The cut of the dress was traditional, but again, rather simple. The necklace lay in the low cleavage, framed by soft white Gondorian lace.

"I am not always so disgustingly thin," Werna muttered, and patted her waist. "Later, Mistress Braga, you will be given a chance to make proper bodices, once I recover."

"I think my lady looks very appropriate," Braga stepped closer and looked at the mirror as well. The women had brought it with them. It was darkened and cracked, probably found among the debris in the Mountain. Werna tenderly stroked the elaborate frame. She loved how the new life in Erebor was growing on the ruins of the old, without tossing it aside - like fresh branches of an oak showing their green leaves on an old stump. "And you can always keep this dress for your daughter, for her first revels."

Werna gave out a small surprised laugh. Everything seemed to be in such a disarray - her whole association with the King, their whole story - that she seemed to have not a single moment to sit and think what her new life was to be. And indeed, she thought now, there would a wedding, and then… children, if Mahal be generous. And then her cheeks flamed up, at the thought of what was to transpire between the two events, following the first and causing the second.

"I will be needing my whole hope chest, to think of it," Werna told to Braga and Thea. "My sister will send my dowry and my possessions once she returns to the Iron Hills, but I have to say I have been quite neglectful towards my hope chest. In the latest years most of my gold was spent on axes and swords." Thea who was folding some gauzy undergarments on the bed chuckled.

"Braga here could help you with both, my lady. She had already acquainted most of the newly arrived smiths."

"What can I say? I love me a pair of good axes." Braga shrugged with a grin.

"I love me a pair of good smiths," Thea chimed in; and all three of them burst into giggles.

That was when the knock to the door came, and Braga rushed to open in.

Werna did not know herself why she suddenly could not find courage to turn away from the mirror and face the King.

"Thea, daughter of Tod, my lord," Thea introduced herself. "I am Lady Werna's new chambermaid and hairmaster."

Braga introduce herself as well, the King mannerly greeted them both - and Werna still stood her back to him, everything shaking inside her.

The women said their hasty goodbyes and left. Werna thought she heard excited murmuring and more giggles from the passage.

"My heart?" the King called to her softly, and she drew a shuddered breath and slowly turned. Her face felt flushed, and her hands trembled.

"I do not know why I am so anxious," she muttered, her eyes lowered to the floor. "I feel I could face a band of Orcs with much more ease than being in this dress, and going down to the Hall, and..." She finally lifted her face and looked at him.

" _Bunmel_..." _Beauty._ He smiled to her with warmth, and she bit into her bottom lip. She could see the love and admiration in his eyes - and how his gaze lingered at the Gondorian lace - and the suffocating shyness ebbed. "I doubt a band of Orcs would appreciate you as much as I do."

She gave out a small laugh.

"I am only grateful that one has to go through the whole betrothal announcement once. We will be done quick with it, and then dance, right?" she asked, and he nodded and opened his hand inviting her to step closer.

She took his hand and let him pull her into embrace.

"I am the younger daughter, Thorin," she drew out, and traced the embroidery on his doublet with her finger. "I am the plainer sister. I would rather spar in the training yard than withstand everyone's attention."

She peeked and saw him frown a bit. Of course, these worries of hers were hard to understand and even harder to sympathize for him; but she believed - or at least hoped - he wanted to succour her discomfort. And she knew just the remedy for her agitation, which he would surely approve of.

She wrapped one arm around his neck and pressed into him flush.

"I will need you to aid me, my lord," she whispered, and her lips hovered over his. "I will need busses…" One corner of his lips curled up, and Werna decided to raise the stakes. Her other hand snaked around his waist. "A touch of a knee under the table, perhaps..." The King raised one eyebrow, his eyes growing darker. "Just remember I do not need your crown. I am here sheerly for your physique..."

"Vixen," he whispered, and she lunged ahead and kissed him.

A few minutes later, it was the clank of a pin on the floor that made her wince away from him.

"Oh, you have destroyed Thea's efforts!" she exclaimed and dashed to the mirror.

"You cannot blame me!" he answered with a laugh. "You have been hinting on inappropriate behaviour; basically claimed to marry me for my body; and your hands wandered! I am an innocent victim of seduction here!"

"That you are," she murmured, throwing him a playful glance over the shoulder. "Your body and the chance to train with Orcrist are the two reasons I am here."

She was rearranging her braids, when he asked quietly, "How much of this is a jest, Werna?"

She turned and saw him sitting on her bed, his posture tense. She quickly came up to him and climbed on the bed, straddling him. She had to pull at the skirts, and jerk them couple times, which reminded her why she'd always preferred trousers.

She cupped his face and brushed her thumbs to the corner of his lips.

"All of it is a jest, Thorin," she said softly. "I just have not recovered from my injuries, and everything makes me uneasy. And I have always had the luxury of staying in Dania's shadow. But Erebor is my home now, it is my Kingdom, and these are my people. I am ready for the crown." She tenderly kissed him and smiled. "But I do expect many hours of sparring with you, Thorin."

He hummed, and she wondered whether he had heard an innuendo in her words. She could not say he would be wrong if he did.

* * *

The feast did not end in one night as it had been intended; and it did not end in three as Werna had expected it to; it lasted a week, and by the end of it even Dain finally claimed that was quite enough.

Werna had never drunk so much, danced so much, or laughed so much in her life.

She had been so exhausted by the time the guests were leaving that she did not get a chance to say her goodbyes. She was to visit the Iron Hills in four moons, for the last preparations to her wedding that was to take place in six months. She wanted to see her Mother before taking her permanent residence in Erebor. So, when she woke up late in the morning and Braga told her that the Iron Hills army had gone, she felt it was quite alright - she would see her Uncle and her sister soon.

"The Gondorian left with them," Braga shouted to Werna from the other room, over the sound of pouring water. Werna had been temporarily lodging with Braga, her husband, and her sister in their Halls. The rooms she had been given previously were to be renovated and were to become her study and parlour.

Werna closed her eyes with a groan. So, the rumours had spread. Amrod, son of Mablung had indeed been mostly seen near her sister, but Werna thought any sort of insinuations about the two of them absurd. Firstly, he was of Men. Secondly, Dania's view of any sort of association with men were well-known to Werna - for Dania romance was a ridiculous fairy tale; while marriage was just another form of a financial deal.

Werna - happily enamoured and enjoying her liaison with the King immensely - almost wished the rumours to be true, to be honest. She felt a healthy love affair with a male could enrich many women's lives, not that it would be a prerequisite for happiness for some. Werna herself was quite looking forward to when the King and she did not have to stop themselves every time their caresses were getting too heated - which would happen every time, thrice a day sometimes. Following the traditions of their people regarding intimacy was becoming quite taxing, to be honest.

Werna yawned and stretched on her bed. The injuries echoed dully; but to think of it even through days and nights of excessive drinking, eating, and dancing she had improved more than through months in the infirmary.

Braga showed up from the next chamber.

"Thea is probably still sleeping," the woman said with a chuckle. "She had overindulged last night, on ale… and on a certain Dwarf." Werna snorted into her pillow.

"Has she made up her mind yet?"

"I thought she had narrowed her choices down to Bofur or Bombur last night, but just before dawn I saw her dancing with Prince Kili, and she had that smile of hers..." Braga shook her head.

"He is just a boy." Werna sat up and started unbraiding her night plait. "He will not keep her interest for long."

"Is it true about him and an Elf?" Braga asked. "It all sounds quite impossible, but wars were known to bring most different peoples together."

"I doubt anything would come out of this childish infatuation. He has not even seen eighty springs. You are right, it was just the war, and the excitement of travel and the fight. She had saved his life, as well."

"Men are funny creatures sometimes." Braga shook her head again. Werna laughed and hopped off the bed.

"Well, it is time to get up and face some of them. I am to meet Master Dwalin to discuss the Erebor guard today." Werna picked up her clothes from a bench and headed to the bath chambers.

"That one is not funny," Braga joked, and Werna giggled.

"Have I ever told you how many years ago he caught me sneaking into the armoury and trying out Thorin's axe? It was dark, and he grabbed me..." Werna laughed at the memories and at Braga's shocked face. "We were just children then, just before the dragon attacked. He could not see who I was, and he lunged instinctively, and I punched him in the jaw." Braga made an astonished noise. "We made peace, shook hands, and I left for the feast… To think of it it was the day I met Thorin…" Werna shook her head chasing away maudlin thoughts, and chuckled slightly embarrassed. "Funny to think of it now..."

By the door, she turned to the woman again.

"Oh, that reminds me, you said your brother wanted to enlist. Send him to the training grounds closer to midday." Braga nodded and thanked Werna.

It was time to start the first day of Werna's new life.


	51. The End

**Author's Note:**

 **This is it, my dear readers. This is the final chapter. This story had quite a turbulent history; and here is the well-deserved happy ending for it. If you enjoy my writing, check out the links to my other media under the chapter, and please consider supporting me on P.A.T.R.E.O.N.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Yours truly,**

 **kkolmakov**

* * *

It was ten years after his unexpected adventure, which had to do with a mountain, a dragon, and many others perils, when Mister Bilbo Baggins received the first letter from Lady Werna of Erebor, the Queen Under the Mountain. The letter was simple and touching; and from the first words he could hear it in his head spoken in her voice that he remembered so well.

Bilbo wasn't able to get through the first three paragraphs without having to put it down and rush to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The kettle boiled, he took it off the stove; and then he stood, his unseeing eyes fixed on the wall above the table; and then he had to put the kettle back on to warm it up again.

She told him that life was peaceful and prosperous in Erebor. She told him of each member of the company: who stayed in Erebor, who married, who fathered children.

She herself was now a mother, of the Heir of the Line of Durin - Thror, son of Thorin, son of Thrain. She told him of her new family in the sober joyous tone that he could recall clearly, which didn't sound patronising or boasting.

She also asked of Bilbo himself; and finally, she expressed the hope he would write to her if such were his desire.

And he did.

* * *

Over the years, Bilbo and Werna exchanged many letters - until one day a knock came to his door. It was quite late in the evening; and a Wednesday - not quite a day a respectable Hobbit would expect guests.

Bilbo tightened the belt of his robe, and jerked the door open.

And once again, decades after the first time, his house was invaded by Dwarves! Feet stomped; cloaks were being pulled off; loud voices greeted; strong arms hugged, almost crushing his bones. There were pats on the back; questions that didn't seem to require answers; and more and more noise and commotion - and Bilbo felt almost faint.

Balin was already inside, telling everyone to stop crowding the parlour. Dwalin was inquiring about supper. Bofur was loudly pouring news onto Bilbo, who just kept looking between familiar faces. Bifur and Bombur were hanging their cloakes. And then Thorin walked in, a soft smile on his face. And Werna followed, pushing the hood off her face, just as all those years ago.

Bilbo froze, and some weapons and garments lay into his arms that he outstretched without thinking - and he just could not stop staring at a small boy who stepped from behind Thorin and gave the Hobbit a small ceremonial bow.

"Evening, Master Baggins," Thorin's voice came; and Bilbo, shaken out of his stupor, started greeting his guests, and inviting them in, and smiling from ear to ear.

"Bilbo, my dear," Werna stepped ahead; and her hand lay on the Hobbit's shoulder. "I know we have planned this visit for the Spring, but the company just couldn't wait." She smiled to him; and he could not tear his eyes off her slightly flushed face. "And this is Thror."

The boy looked exactly like his father - same dark locks, and bright blue eyes. Even the cantankerous expression was a precise replica of his father's.

Bilbo gave the boy a decorous bow.

"Welcome to Shire, Master Thror."

* * *

After many hours - after the dinner, and coffee, and smoking, and of course all the conversation - Bilbo finally fell in his armchair in front of the fireplace. Just as last time, the Dwarves were wandering his house; Bombur and Thorin were talking somewhere in one of the smaller parlours, Bilbo could hear their low voices; Bifur was still in the kitchen, clanking with some dishes.

"Thror's finally asleep," Werna's soft voice came from behind his chair; and then she stepped around, and took the seat in front of him. "What a day he's had!" She laughed softly. "His first long journey, all the sights, and finally, meeting the renown hero of the Quest for Erebor!"

Bilbo gave her a confused look; and she laughed harder. "You, my dear Hobbit! He'd heard so much about you! The adventures of Bilbo Baggins of the Bag-end have always been his favourite bedtime stories."

"Well… that is… most unexpected," Bbo muttered, and his nose twitched in unease. "Shouldn't it be… the story of Thorin Oakenshield, and his company, the renown Dwarven warriors, reclaiming their homeland?"

She leaned back in the chair, and stretched her legs in front of her. She'd changed little. There was silver in the small curls around her face now, not just on the nape; and the expression of her face was softer, unburdened now - but it was the same beautiful woman who had arrived at his doorstep as the fourteenth Dwarf that evening.

She smiled wider.

"I've always found that a story of a man who was thrown into an adventure, almost against his will; who overcame his fears out of loyalty and compassion, to people of a different race, which had less than him, and sometimes were lesser men than him…" He saw her eyes shine softly. "A man who did not share their beliefs, but who stood by them nonetheless… Who showed mercy to his adversaries, and love to his friends… I truly believe that it is a much more important story to tell to our children."

Bilbo felt his throat constrict, and he looked away, to hide the tears in his eyes.

"And Thror does love the part when you had a potato peel bobbing in your hair when you came out of the garbage chute in Mirkwood," she added, and he chuckled.

Their eyes met, and he smiled back to her.

"I hope some day you will come to visit the Mountain you helped to return, my friend," she said; and he nodded.

"Perhaps, one day..."

"Perhaps, with children of your own?" she said softly, and he gave her a pointed side glance. She laughed and lifted her hands in a feigned defensiveness. "I am not trying to compel you, my dear Bilbo. But I truly believe you would make a wonderful husband and a father."

"Perhaps, one day," Bilbo muttered, just to answer something.

When he had returned home and settled back in his house - after his somewhat tarnished name and most of his possessions had been returned to him - he once again found himself a true believer into the merits of bachelor existence.

They sat in silence and smoked; and then she gave out a small chuckle.

"What is it?" he asked, and she threw him an impish glance.

"I remembered the handkerchief trouble. At the very beginning of our journey, do you recall?" Bilbo laughed goodnaturedly.

"Ah yes, I truly thought at that time that I just could not continue without it!" he exclaimed, as if undignified; and she joined in his frolics. "Little did I know that I would have to face spider webs; barrels of fish; and the underbelly of the Lake Town later!"

He continued jesting, while thinking of her handkerchief - the one she'd given him then to save his face - safely tucked in the top drawer of his wardrobe, among his ties and cravats. He had the habit of taking it out, ever so often, to brush his fingers to the lilac branch embroidered on its corner.

"I still can't stand the taste of fish," she said, wrinkling her nose, laughing. "When we visit King Bain, they serve it every time!"

"Bain? The boy?" Bilbo exclaimed, and then remembered that indeed Bain, son of Bard would be a man these days.

"Aye. He ascended on the throne of Dale three years ago. We had danced so much at his wedding!" She smiled at her memories. "Oh, Bilbo! You truly should visit!"

"I will, I will," he promised. "But it is such a long journey..." he added somewhat timidly.

"Aye, it is; but it would feel so much shorter in a good company. A nice respectable Hobbit maiden, perhaps," she drew out, and he shook his head amused by her stubbornness.

They did not speak for a few minutes; and then he suddenly said, "You know… It is not at all decided yet, and I am not at all certain that I am the right person for it..."

She gave him a warm expectant look; and he thought that perhaps she was indeed the right person to share his thoughts with. After all, she was so very special to him - so close and kindred, but so distant; understanding and never judging; but opinionated.

"My relation, quite a far removed one that is… Well, his name is Frodo, and he's a youngling, just twelve years old he is. He's been recently orphaned. His mother and father died in a boating accident. And I suppose… I just thought that two men could so well coexist in this house." He threw her a shy look, and saw her nod and smile.

"Oh my dear Bilbo, I think that is an excellent idea," she said in a cordial voice. "And I think you're quite the right person for that."

"You do?" he asked; and she nodded again.

"I'm sure of it."

"Well then..." He took a deep breath, preening up in his chair. "Then it is… somewhat decided. And then, when he's old enough, we will travel to Erebor, and I will show him all the sights on the way, and we will visit the Skinchanger; and then he will meet you, and Thorin, and Thror."

Bilbo was now getting carried away by these new plans of his, and she nodded and encouraged; and they talked and talked, of how wonderful it would be; and reminisced on how exciting their shared adventures had been.

And now, that unexpected journey of his - there and back again - seemed like quite a pleasant affair to him; and perhaps, it would be even worth repeating - given, some perils could be omitted this time around.

THE END

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Armed with several degrees in psychology, sociology, and literary studies, as well as a particular set of skills and abilities, Gemma Wright works as a muse for artists in various creative fields. She can inspire a hit album; pull a popular novelist out of a writer's block; or organize an international tour for a dance company.

Gemma has strict rules and a precise plan for her personal life - and Jack Richards, a famous mystery writer, definitely doesn't fit her criteria. Perhaps, his direct competitor, John Barnett, with his soft manners and seemingly humble disposition, is a better match for Gemma than the dark and handsome Richards.

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Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.

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 **Summary:**

Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.

John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.

Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.

Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?


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